The Finer Shades of Why
by Yesac
Summary: When Dooku realizes far earlier Sidious' intentions to replace him, Sidious' plans never come to fruition... but Dooku's do. Across the galaxy, Anakin and Obi-Wan are shot down by their own men and try to make sense of why.
1. Prologue

Hello again, everyone! Here's a small prologue to my newest story that's almost finished. I can't promise incredibly quick updates, but I think I can probably hold to a timeline of once a week. Enjoy! (And if you're feeling kind and want to make me happy, please review!)

Also, in case you're interested, I've been messing around with making fan videos. I've got two up over on YouTube under the screen name of 3yesac3 if you'd like to check that out. Any comments would be greatly appreciated, especially if you know a bit about editing, as I'm just learning how to make these things. It's good fun so far, though.

* * *

**Prologue**

He is not young.

Most days, he considers that an advantage. The foolishness of youth is, after all, a detriment to many of the galaxy's best young men. It cannot be helped by anything but time, and that, at least, is one thing that is on his side.

He does not like to think of himself as _old_, per say. Getting on in years, perhaps. Certainly he has seen the passing of enough time to lay claim to the wisdom that comes with it. Still, he is not elderly. The elderly are the retired, no longer fit for active duty or anything more than reminiscing about a time when they were. He is certainly not at that point. He is active. He has more say in the fate of the galaxy than almost any other man.

He has a lot of life left before him.

Most importantly, he intends to defend his right to live that life.

His master is a wise man, full of intelligence and guile. He has offered many good teachings. But he is arrogant… and his arrogance blinds him. He thinks himself above defeat in anything but the most glorified and epic of circumstances, and that self-given surety born of pride creates a weakness.

Battles are won and lost in the details, in the overlooked moments.

His master would tell him this. It is simply that, when it comes to his own life, he is blind to the implications of his own teachings.

Sidious will not be defeated in a grand battle. His end will be as unknown as his true identity was to the Republic, to the Jedi—to all but a select few.

He has the good grace to go quietly at least, with none of the words that have come to be so loathsome as of late. What was once appreciated teaching became useless lies when it became apparent that Sidious had no intention of keeping him as his apprentice indefinitely.

In Anakin Skywalker, he already had a replacement, and time, one thing that used to be an ally, became an enemy in the face of that steadily accelerating plan. Quite simply, Sidious's death became a matter of survival.

He does not kill Sidious in his sleep. He considers it, mainly because Sidious finished his own master that way, and there would be something poetic about it, but when it comes down to the final decision, he elects not to out of worry that Sidious might expect it.

Instead, he does precisely what Sidious does not expect.

He kills him while looking straight into his face.

It's so obvious—so blatant—that Sidious never considers it. He never considers that his end might be as simple as a lightsaber in his gut while he has a routine conversation with his apprentice. There are no signs. It is a perfectly amiable conversation, with hardly even a change in tone when he is skewered. He expects nothing, because in his pride, he cannot fathom that he would have such an unremarkable end. That is why it is perfect.

So simple.

Sidious dies isolated in a seedy part of Coruscant, safely away from prying eyes. In the morning, the Republic will panic, desperate to find their missing Chancellor. There will be chaos. Actions must be taken before that. Sidious left him the proper clearance. The clones will take orders from him. Though, there is only one order that he needs to give before morning dawns on this planet.

"Execute Order 66."

There is a moment of pause, a check of that clearance that he inherited, and then, "It will be done, my Lord."

Upon the dawn of each world, the people of the Republic will awake to find their Supreme Chancellor gone; their Senate in disarray; and the Jedi, their defenders of peace and justice in the galaxy, exterminated.

They will awake to chaos.

And Dooku will rise from it all to the place that was always meant to be his.


	2. Chapter 1

**Disclaimer: **I own nothing. Sad, huh?

**Feedback**: If you'd be so kind as to leave some, I'll do my best to reply.

**Notes:** ROTS AU.

anakinpadmekenobi: Yup, all of the above! It's Dooku's show now.

T-man626: Thanks for reading!

ObiBettina7: Honestly, I'm really not sure where these ideas come from. They just sort of randomly pop up sometimes, while other times I can't think of anything at all. It's like my plot bunnies are bipolar or something…

SVCrystalGreen: Thank you! Hopefully, now I can keep your attention, too.

Estora: Thank you so much! Dooku is a new challenge for me, so I'm hoping I can get his voice right. Writing him is harder for me then, say, Obi-Wan, whose character I relate to a little better.

ThoseWereTheDays: Thanks very much!

phaorah: Thanks!

XxRandom NemesisxX: Here's your next chapter—hopefully it doesn't disappoint!

* * *

"Flying is for droids!"

Anakin's chuckle can be heard on the other end of the line. The sound is low and warm, and so at odds with the current situation that Obi-Wan is tempted to shout back with a reprimand. He doesn't. He's done that before, and it doesn't help. Anakin only laughs more, correctly attributing his former master's snappish reply to nerves, and finding it entirely amusing.

"There isn't a droid that can out fly you, Master."

He does appreciate the compliment, especially as he knows Anakin only gives them with sincerity. Anakin Skywalker is many things: brash, headstrong, impulsive… but never insincere. He wears his heart on his sleeve, and his emotions are there for all to see, and there is no deception in them. He doesn't guard what he is feeling or attempt to control it.

Quite often, that is his problem.

"Right." Compliment or not, they still have a battle to win. "Squadron, form up behind me."

"Copy that, Red Leader," he hears his clone captain say. It's not Cody. Cody is leading the ground forces that will come in behind them once they clear the way. However, in order to clear the way, they have to take care of things up here in the air, and that's not Cody's job. Though, Obi-Wan has to admit, he almost wishes it were: Cody is not only talented, but he's also reliable, and it would be an advantage to have him here now.

It would also be a personal advantage if _he _were leading the ground forces. Flying like this—everything about it is unsettling.

In many ways, it's the setting that bothers him most. The black expanse of space stretches out before them, giving the impression that if they are shot down and miss the planet below them, they will be falling forever in a great sea of nothingness. It's a disconcerting feeling, and Obi-Wan tries not to concentrate on it, focusing instead on the planet below, and maybe even on the tiny pinpricks of light that offer some sense of depth. There is always a light in the darkness. He only needs to look in order to find it.

"Anakin?"

"Right beside you, Master." Master. It's certainly not his call sign, but he gave up trying to force Anakin to use those nearly before the war even began.

"Incoming fighters," he announces, watching as they zip closer. These are controlled by droids. No loss of life. They are only metal. They can kill and kill and kill, and they never feel a twinge of conscience. Obi-Wan envies them that. Sometimes, he thinks he will see the blood of the dead in his dreams forever.

"I see them," Anakin mutters.

The fighters open fire on them. Obi-Wan swerves to the right, Anakin's voice ringing in his ears as they work to outflank them. They mostly succeed—droids, though they have no conscience, which plays to their advantage in situations like these, are slower on the uptake. In a set pattern, they are very efficient, but if independent thinking is required, a human mind is always superior.

And Obi-Wan is very good at creative strategy.

"Break left," Anakin snaps, and Obi-Wan swerves, dodging a missile. One of the clones isn't so lucky—his ship explodes in a fiery ball of heat. Hopefully, he died quickly.

At this stage in the war, that is about all Obi-Wan can hope for.

Clones die. Jedi die. Out here, during a battle, they're all equal in that respect, and if they stop to mourn for the dead while there's still live fire, they will likely join the deceased in the Force. For now, they can concentrate only on the task at hand and not on what's left of the man drifting in space behind them.

Obi-Wan falls back in behind Anakin, hands on the controls. He's only shaking _slightly_. "Go for the ones ahead. I'll cover you."

"Sure thing, Master."

Force, he can almost see Anakin grinning, invigorated by the mêlée around them. He's so alive in situations like these. This rush of adrenaline—this possibility of death—is a jolt to Anakin's system, and he thrives on it in a way that Obi-Wan does not—that he can't—understand and that sometimes worries him. At least it's only droids. If it were sentient beings that Anakin enjoyed slaughtering, he'd be more disturbed. Or, perhaps he's only trying to downplay the sense of worry he feels at his former padawan's actions. Maybe. There are so many maybes in situations like these, in _war_, and Obi-Wan is tired of it all. What happened to the days when they were keepers of the peace?

"Red Squadron, engage them on a one-to-one basis," he orders the clones. As anticipated, the droid fighters are too small and quick to be defeated any other way. If they want to clear a path for a landing party, this is the only way to do it.

A shot rips by his wing, and Obi-Wan spins, narrowly avoiding it. "Force," he mutters under his breath, clenching the yoke so hard that his knuckles whiten. He _hates _flying. "Anakin?"

"Fine, Master—"

Whatever he's about to say, he never finishes. Instead, he's silenced by a barrage of fire… from _behind _them.

"What the—?" There shouldn't be fire from that direction, and Obi-Wan twists in his seat, trying to get a glimpse behind him. Where are the clones? Surely all of them couldn't have been outflanked without noticing. What's going on?

That is when he realizes with a sinking feeling that his men never replied to his order.

"Red Squadron," he repeats, sharper this time. It's bordering on desperate, because he doesn't want to believe what logic is already telling him. "What is your status?"

Nothing.

"Anakin?"

"They aren't answering me, either, Master."

But they _are_ answering, just not by comlink.

Shots rip into the back of Obi-Wan's fighter without warning, rocking him until he's sure he's going to split apart in the air. Like a creature with its own mind, the fighter tears itself from Obi-Wan's control. Maybe that's a blessing. He can't control his ship, but he's got to be harder to hit this way, and perhaps he'll be able to pull out of this before he crashes—

There's a steady stream of Huttesse swear words echoing in his ear. That's got to be Anakin, and as dire as the situation is, Obi-Wan is strangely comforted. If Anakin is swearing, he's still alive.

"Oh, for the love of—" he gasps, uselessly fighting to pull himself out of the dive he's gone into. He can't pull out now. He's losing power anyway—an engine must have been hit, something, does it even really matter what?

The planet below is coming closer. It's a long way to the ground, and this is a terrible, terrible fate to be forced to watch it come closer, because he's beginning to very much doubt that he's going to be able to find a way to survive this. Already, his ship is heating up in the atmosphere. The shielding on his fighter hasn't been taken out completely—he still has some protection against the heat—but it's not going to be enough. If he can't pull up and slow his descent, he'll immolate before he's anywhere near the ground.

Without warning, his starfighter slams into something. Hard. Obi-Wan is thrown against his safety straps, cursing _inwardly_—he's determined to be more civilized than Anakin, even in a situation like this—as he feels his neck snap. He'll have whiplash something awful… not that it will matter. He won't survive this descent. He's becoming surer of that fact by the minute.

Except, whatever hit his fighter has slowed him, not enough to bring the ship out of its dive, but enough for him to grab at the yoke again, trying desperately to gauge the angle that he's coming in—it might be manageable now—in order to land in a way that could at least create the _possibility _of survival.

The ground is coming fast, and what looked green and inviting from space is now nothing short of his worst nightmare. What is this planet? He knows the name, but it escapes him in a rush of fear and near-panic as he stares at the dark green foliage of the forest planet that is rapidly increasing in size. "Pull up a little more," he hears Anakin shout, and he does, even if he thinks his angle is already right, because Anakin is the better pilot, and Obi-Wan trusts him with his life, even now, he does, he does, he _does—_

He slams into the ground. The crash throws him forward, then to the side, or the roof, or just someplace, because he can't tell. All he can feel is more impact, and he doesn't know up from down. Maybe he's flipped over. There's a pain in his leg, in his arm—he thinks he screaming, like men do right before they die.

Force, he's going to die.

His head smashes into something, and everything goes black.

-------------------

Anakin lands his fighter with minimal trouble. Unlike Obi-Wan, he hadn't taken any of the friendly fire—the fact that Obi-Wan's ship blocked him from the clones was to thank for that. In fact, the only damage he took was what occurred when he purposely knocked his ship into Obi-Wan's in an effort to help him level out. Even that is slight enough that he's able to land: some damage to his right wing, and more serious problems with his engine. He doubts he'll be able to take off again, but right now, that isn't his priority at all.

His current priority is the man inside of the smoking fighter that's lying in ruins at the base of a tree.

"Obi-Wan!" Flipping from the cockpit before the ship has even come to a stop, he sprints toward the other ship, shoving branches out of the way as he runs. A few whip him in the face, but he hardly notices the sting as he frantically makes for Obi-Wan's fighter.

There's something cold and hard curling in his chest, so similar to how he felt when he found his mother. She's been so frail and breakable as she had lain in his arms, and some part of him had known that she wasn't going to live. He remembers the fear—the cold dread and realization—that had crept into him when he had realized that. He's feeling it again now. Obi-Wan can't be dead, _can't_ be, because Obi-Wan never dies. He always comes back, and Anakin needs him to keep doing that.

He _needs_ him to.

He shouldn't need him, and he knows that, but right now he doesn't care. Later, once he's sure Obi-Wan is all right, he'll forget that he ever felt this panic. Once he sees that he's okay, he'll address him calmly, like he was never worried at all. They'll joke about this later.

For now, he's going to run to help.

"Master!" he shouts, sounding far more like he's begging than he'd like to admit. He doesn't beg, he _orders_, and if he could, Obi-Wan would probably tease him and tell him that in this situation, there's no difference.

But Obi-Wan doesn't tell him, because he isn't answering. Why isn't he answering? He always answers when Anakin calls, even if it's something trivial and annoying, and Anakin feels a flash of anger at the fact that, this time, he's not.

"Answer me!" he yells—_demands_—ripping aside the branches that have accumulated during the fighter's violent descent. He tosses them to the side, paying no heed to where they go. It doesn't matter right now. "Master, answer me!"

Obi-Wan doesn't, and Anakin sees why once he gets the branches away.

Obi-Wan isn't conscious.

"Obi-Wan!" He pries the cockpit open and reaches down, searching desperately for a pulse. Obi-Wan's skin is covered in a thin sheen of sweat, probably from the stress of the fight and subsequent decent, and Anakin's fingers slip at first, sliding through the moisture. At least it's not blood. He hates blood, hates this sweat, but he keeps at what he's doing as automatically as a machine, because he can't think right now, and he's acting on an autopilot as efficient as any he's ever seen. That is what training will do. For someone like him, who has been in this situation numerous times before, he does what he'd automatically do if the victim were anyone else—someone he didn't care about nearly so much.

Eventually, he finds the pulse he's looking for. It's there, quivering against his fingers, but strong enough for him to be reasonably confident that it will stay that way, at least for now. Obi-Wan is alive.

He's alive. The knowledge is enough to calm Anakin's initial onslaught of fear. It doesn't alleviate it, but it clears his mind enough to let him think, and he manages to pause long enough to pull himself out of his automatic actions and back into actual reality. He won't be able to do his best to help Obi-Wan if he doesn't gain control of himself, and that's a sobering reality.

Taking a deep breath, Anakin forces himself to accept the circumstances. No emotions, but just Jedi calm and resolve in the face of a difficult situation. He _will _get Obi-Wan out of this mess. He's saved his master before, and he'll do it again now.

A small explosion catches Anakin's attention. The smoke he saw earlier? It's coming from the engine of the fighter. That's not good. Not at all. He doesn't really want to move Obi-Wan—he shouldn't move an injured person before he assesses the injuries—but the idea of immediate incineration via explosion is worth running the risk. Reaching down, he unbuckles the straps and, as gently as he can, uses the Force to lift his former master out of the starfighter. It takes concentration, but he closes his eyes and keeps Obi-Wan off the ground as he backs up, sensing his way with the Force to avoid tripping over the branches he strewed haphazardly.

Once he's a good hundred feet away from the starfighter, he gently lowers Obi-Wan to the ground…

…and watches as the ship blows up.

"That's five times I've saved your life, Master." He won't acknowledge that his heart is in his throat, and or that if he had been just a little bit slower, there would be no chance for a sixth. In fact, there wouldn't even have been a fifth time.

No. He won't think about that. He saved Obi-Wan. That's all that matters. He won't lose Obi-Wan like he lost his mother.

And, really, when he stops and thinks about it, isn't that what it all comes down to? He fears loss. He fears that, someday, he's going to lose the people he loves. He will never forget his mother going limp in his arms, the life draining out of her as quickly as water evaporates in the sands of Tatooine. Her life Force was just… gone. How could he possibly forget that? So many nights he sees her death in his dreams, sometimes sees her as Padme or Obi-Wan. Sometimes he sees all of them die.

But not today.

Still keeping a hard-fought for sense of calm, he lowers his head to Obi-Wan's chest and listens for his heartbeat. It's there, steady and strong.

Hearing it should be enough of a reassurance, but something in Anakin prompts him to keep his head there, listening to that steady thump. It's comforting. That sound was what soothed him when he was young and scared after a nightmare, back in those first days when he was missing his mother. Obi-Wan had let him sleep in his bed then, let Anakin curl up against him, his head on his new master's chest as he listened to his heart beat. That, he supposes, is when he really came to trust Obi-Wan: in those dark nights of dreamscape terrors when his master's arms were the only thing offering any comfort at all in a strange and unfamiliar place.

The memory of that is enough to make him close his eyes and keep listening to that steady beat, because some illogical part of him fears that the moment he takes his ear away from it, it will stop altogether.

Illogical, yes, but for a little while longer he'll listen.

Even with Obi-Wan's heartbeat echoing in his ear, he still can't fight the knowledge that he shouldn't be this affected. He and Obi-Wan have been in life-threatening situations before, but this—this is something Obi-Wan shouldn't have walked away from. Anakin logically knows that. If Anakin hadn't bumped him with his starfighter, Obi-Wan wouldn't have been able to pull up enough to survive. Additionally, technically speaking, Anakin never should have been able to hit him midair and survive himself. That's why he's so shaken… or maybe it's because Obi-Wan isn't waking up.

Or, most probably, it's because of where the fire that downed them came from.

The clones fired on them. There is no other explanation. They were shot down by their own men… and that—_that_ is something that chills him. Maybe it should be the same as being fired on by the enemy—dying is dying, after all, regardless of who fires the shots—but in all the ways that count, it's not.

"They tried to kill us," Anakin murmurs, closing his eyes as he continues to rest his head against Obi-Wan's chest, allowing some semblance of true calm to begin to seep back in at the steady sound. "They really tried to kill us." He can hardly fathom it. They've fought side by side with the clones for years now, and in war you trust your fellow soldier. You depend on them. If you don't, you can't depend on anyone, and you go crazy. Trust like that can't be betrayed. It just _can't_.

Only, it has been, and he doesn't understand why.

Squeezing his eyes shut and exhaling heavily, Anakin tries to push the thoughts aside. He doesn't have time to understand right now. Even though the clones successfully shot them down, he can't assume that they believe him and Obi-Wan to be dead. They _should_—no one could survive a fall like they just took.

No one can survive it, but _they_ did.

Because they did, Anakin cannot assume that the clones will not consider the possibility. They're smart. He knows that, just like he's aware that they'll know _him, _and while he can always change tactics to confuse them, he can't change the fact that they know he and Obi-Wan are hard to kill. There's no good cover for that.

Taking one more calming deep breath, he pulls away from Obi-Wan and goes back to assessing the damage. He is not a healer. However, anyone who serves in the field has been trained to assess injuries. All it requires is the ability to scan with the Force, and Anakin can certainly mange that much.

He doesn't like what he finds: a concussion, two broken ribs, a fractured arm, a clean break all the way through in the right leg, and more cuts and bruises than he's comfortable with. No irreparable internal damage, though, and that's enough to reassure him. Obi-Wan should live. He'll be quite uncomfortable until help arrives, but his life shouldn't be in danger… at least not from the injuries. The continued threat of the clones is another matter entirely.

"I'm sorry, Master. This might hurt," Anakin murmurs as he reaches out with the Force to levitate Obi-Wan again. He doesn't want to move him—it's not a good idea—but he fears being out in the open if the clones are looking for them more than he fears further harming Obi-Wan. There's a large downed tree about a hundred yards away, and if he can just get Obi-Wan there, he can dig down underneath it and make a decent shelter and hiding place. At the very least, someone scanning from the air won't ever see it.

He'll have to move the wreckage, of course. There's a lake that, by the looks of it, is about a quarter of a mile away. If he leaves some wreckage floating there, he can make it look like they hit the lake. The fighters are certainly in bad enough condition to suggest that if they hit the water, they crashed hard enough to leave nothing but scattered debris. Perfect. The clones shouldn't search beyond that, if they search at all, and if they do, well, he hopes they enjoy meeting the business end of his lightsaber.

He's able to move and deposit Obi-Wan by the tree fairly uneventfully. The movement does draw a few moans from Obi-Wan when he is lifted and set down, and Anakin is thankful he isn't conscious to really experience the jostling, but he doesn't think moving him has done any additional damage.

The fallen tree that caught his eye is about half as big in diameter as Anakin is tall, which is lucky, since it will make a good support for the other materials he's going to have to prop against it to make a decent shelter. Hopefully, the Jedi—who will be able to sense their lives in the Force, unlike the clones—will find them quickly; Anakin doesn't relish the idea of camping out with a cranky, injured Jedi Master, and he's fairly certain Obi-Wan won't like the idea of sleeping in the dirt when he's already feeling less than up to par.

It doesn't take Anakin long to hollow out the area under the tree. A few swipes of his lightsaber cut blocks of dirt, and then he's able to levitate them away using the Force. He sets the dirt aside for later: he'll cover the top of the brush that he uses to make the roof with the excess soil. It should provide adequate camouflage.

The rest of the shelter isn't complicated. He gathers some more branches and props them against the log on both sides—leaving room for a small door—creating a sort of roof. Then, he places some foliage on top of that before covering it with the excess dirt. Upon completion, he's created a shelter that's deep enough to sit up in without hitting his head on the roof, and wide and long enough for both him and Obi-Wan to fit in without bumping each other, though there isn't much room to spare. It's not ideal, and he hopes they won't have to take up residence here for long, but it's certainly not the worst place he's ever had to sleep.

"Your cloak is going on the bottom," he informs Obi-Wan as he removes the garment from his master and spreads it on the floor of the shelter. He can feel a smirk blooming on his face, just from picturing Obi-Wan's expression when he sees whose cloak is in the dirt. Obi-Wan hates getting unnecessarily dirty. Though, really, this isn't unnecessary, is it? "I'm sure you'll forgive me eventually," he adds as he finally, as carefully as he can, moves Obi-Wan inside and settles him on the floor.

The whole place smells of tree bows and freshly dug earth. That's not surprising, but as Anakin is tucking his own cloak around Obi-Wan, he does have to admit that he finds it vaguely comforting. For a boy who grew up on a desert world, the smell of life—of dirt and trees—is a promise of continued existence, and right now he needs that promise more than anything. He needs to know that Obi-Wan will live.

He doesn't like how fragile Obi-Wan looks, wrapped in Anakin's spare cloak and settled against a dirt wall. He doesn't like it at all, and Anakin has never been much inclined to patiently tolerate the things that he finds disagreeable. Whether it's a situation like this or the slow speed of a transport that's taking him home to see his wife, he isn't a patient person. Padme teases him about that sometimes. Even if she doesn't do it verbally, she'll just _look_ at him with that little knowing smirk of hers that drives him mad.

Force, he misses his wife.

No. He can't think of Padme. Not now. Right now he needs to concentrate. There will be plenty of time to think about her when he's back on Coruscant and Obi-Wan is in the infirmary _again_. "I'm sure the healers will be quite glad to see you, Master. It's been a while since you last visited." He hardly knows what he's saying, but he keeps talking because the silence is simply so… empty. It gives him the idea that, should he stop making noise, there will be no one left to hear him. That can't happen. He needs Obi-Wan to keep hearing him.

"I've got to go move the ships," he tells Obi-Wan, tucking the cloak a little tighter over him. "I'll be back soon, and I'll help with some of your injuries then, all right?"

Predictably, Obi-Wan doesn't answer, so Anakin does one last scan to insure that that his friend has no life-threatening injuries before he crawls back out into the sun and heads for the ships.


	3. Chapter 2

**Disclaimer: **I own nothing. Sad, huh?

**Feedback**: If you'd be so kind as to leave some, I'll do my best to reply.

**Notes:** ROTS AU.

anakinpadmekenobi: You'll definitely get to see Padme's reaction eventually—she'll factor into this story, too.

Maddie Rose: Dooku will certainly want an apprentice, but his main candidate won't be exactly cooperative.

pronker: Yeah, the betrayal of the clones will definitely be addressed. And Dooku won't be inside pulling strings. He'll be right at the forefront.

Nat2: The bit about Anakin being saved from Palpatine's evil influence will be pretty key. Well spotted.

ObiBettina7: I think the reason Obi-Wan is always hurt is because he's my favorite. Go figure. I really can't explain that.

Estora: I think you underestimate your own writing—it's very good. I think my favorite part of that last chapter was Anakin listening to Obi-Wan's heart, too. I could see him doing that if he didn't think anyone was around to see him.

* * *

Sometimes when he's most tired, Obi-Wan dreams of his life before the Jedi. He remembers warm arms and the comforting smell of his mother as she held him. There are snippets of a melody she used to sing, and possibly of a hand stroking his hair back. He thinks sometimes that he remembers her caring for him when he was sick, but the time he spent with his family was too long ago for him to know for sure. It's all just fuzzy memories, and, as likely as not, those are simply products of his subconscious mind.

Sometimes, after those dreams he wakes with wet cheeks, though he can never understand why.

He has that feeling now. Someone is wiping something off his forehead, and the touch is gentle, careful, like he thinks his mother used to be when he was very little. Is he sick? Is she taking care of him? Something inside of him desperately wants to know, and he shifts a little, opening his eyes in hopes of seeing his mother's face.

Obi-Wan wakes to find a wet cloth on his head.

At first, he is momentarily disoriented. He can't think. He hurts. It all hurts. Where is he? Everything is dark, but the figure above him is familiar. Definitely not the mother that he doesn't remember, but still comforting. "Anakin?" Moving is a bad idea. Whoever is holding the cloth to his head seems to think so too, and they press down on his arms, stilling his movement.

"Yeah, Master, it's me."

Oh, yes, all right. That's better, then. He was afraid for Anakin, though he can't quite remember why. He can't remember much. Force, he hurts. Still, if Anakin is all right, he can relax, just a little.

"Where are we?" he mutters, because this is not his room in the Temple and, really, there isn't enough light to see what these new surroundings are. Did Anakin break the lamp in their tent again? Why didn't he listen when he told him to move it out of the way during the night—?

"We crashed, Master. Don't you remember?"

Crash? Oh, yes, maybe. Something bad happened. Something wasn't right about that bad thing. What happened? There's something wrong, and it's upsetting that he can't remember what.

"Mmm, maybe." Reaching up, he closes his hand around Anakin's wrist and blinks a few times. Anakin lets him, stilling his hand and pausing in what Obi-Wan belatedly realizes was his task of cleaning out one of Obi-Wan's cuts with a cloth that is clearly stained with blood. "Something… wasn't right 'bout it."

Anakin laughs. "'Course not. We _crashed_, Master."

Obi-Wan's lips twist into a small smile, though he quells his light laugh for the sake of his ribs. "I mean _unusual_."

He likes how Anakin sounds when he laughs, as though he really thinks something is funny. It makes Obi-Wan feel safer, more right, maybe, because while he shouldn't care so much about Anakin's feelings, he does. He always has. He was a bad master that way. He cared too much. He still cares too much. Should he be thinking this? He wouldn't be if his thoughts didn't feel so scattered. Actually, he distinctly remembers avoiding this topic in his own thoughts, even when he felt healthy.

"We'll talk about it later, Obi-Wan."

No. He's worried about it _now_. "I'd… prefer to know… now," he manages to say, though the words are a little drifty. That wasn't the authoritative masterly voice that he was going for. Blast.

Anakin doesn't seem the least bit intimidated. There's no contrition on his face: instead, he smirks and goes back to cleaning out that cut on Obi-Wan's head. "I'll bet."

"I want to know. That's an… order." Yes. He can still give those, right? He may not be Anakin's master anymore, but he's still his commanding officer. Yes, he is. Oh, Force, maybe he hit his head harder than he thought. He should know this, and why is Anakin's smirk growing?

"Right," he responds a little too cheerily, "I was never much inclined to follow those, as you well know. I don't think I'll start now, especially when you're too concussed to remember if I disobey. Really, Master, I don't get opportunities like this often."

He'd like to respond with some sort of witty retort, but nothing comes to mind except a headache. Another glare, while not as effective, at least gets his point across.

Anakin just swipes the cloth over his head again. "Can you put yourself in a healing trance? I don't want to let you sleep normally with this concussion, but the healing would help."

Healing trance? He should have thought of that. "I—yes."

It takes him a moment to realize that the rising emotion on Anakin's face is skepticism. "Sure you can. Can you also spell your own name?"

"Don't be… difficult."

The skepticism fades into something far more amused. "I wish I had this recorded. It would make a fantastic holonet special on the war."

Did he let Anakin get away with this sort of back talk when he was younger? He thinks he remembers punishing him. His glare also used to be a great deal more effective as well. Or, perhaps it's simply not working now because he's not much of a threat when, as Anakin has stated, he probably won't remember this at all.

"Let me help you."

How? Anakin doesn't exactly have a talent for healing things.

"I know I don't. And you said that out loud."

Blast. That's embarrassing, and worse that he didn't realize it. This feeling—it's maddening, so hard to concentrate, as though he's completely scattered. His mind is usually so orderly, with everything categorized, and this—this won't let him focus well at all. Maybe he'd better accept that offer of help.

Anakin must sense his embarrassment, because the smirk fades away, and something approaching sympathy takes its place. It's not as if Anakin doesn't know what it's like to have a head injury, after all. "I'll help draw the Force in around you, but you'll have to do the healing part yourself."

That he can manage, at least, and he nods, almost immediately regretting it. Hopefully, that healing trance will alleviate the tap dance currently taking place inside his skull.

Sighing, he leans back against… is that his cloak? Did Anakin really have to put it on the floor of wherever they are? Reaching a hand out, he runs his fingers over the rough fabric and then across the floor, only to find that he's trailing them through dirt. They're underground, then.

"Ready?" Anakin asks, lightly placing his hands on Obi-Wan's temples.

"Oh, yes."

The Force is calming as it sweeps over him, drawn there gently by Anakin. It ebbs and flows around him, washing into his mind, and he lets himself drift into it, embracing the healing it offers. The deeper he sinks, the more it surrounds him, and he can feel his consciousness fade. He lets it go gladly. Later, he'll think about everything else.

For now, he'll just rest in the Force.

* * *

By the time Obi-Wan wakes up later that night, Anakin has determined that his own starfigher is too damaged to be anywhere near flight worthy. It might have been all right if he'd been a little more careful with the landing, but he'd been in such a hurry to find Obi-Wan that he'd left the cockpit before the ship stopped—there had been no one to stop the fighter from slamming straight into a tree. Though, it's likely that it wouldn't have been flyable anyway: the damage from bumping into Obi-Wan at the speed that he was going was extensive.

"Have you radioed the Temple for help?" Obi-Wan asks, eyes still closed. He's sounding much more coherent, but while a healing trance might do wonders for a concussion, it doesn't heal broken bones unless the injured person is in it for an extended period of time, a state which only a healer can help them obtain. Until they get the help they need, Obi-Wan is going to be in a lot of discomfort.

"Yes. No answer. Not even on the emergency frequency."

He mutters something that Anakin thinks might be a curse, though he can't be sure, as it's in a language he doesn't know. That would be like Obi-Wan. He won't swear in front of Anakin, even now. Something about retaining his dignity and being a good example. Anakin never quite listened to that particular lecture carefully enough to know.

"Your starfighter?"

"It won't be flight-worthy anytime soon. Given a couple of weeks or so I could probably fix it."

Obi-Wan sighs and pinches the bridge of his nose. Does he still have a headache? Anakin is about to ask, but Obi-Wan keeps talking. "Lovely. Any other options?"

"None. We'll just have to hope someone heard us at the Temple. In the meantime, I'll work on the fighter."

Now, Obi-Wan finally cracks an eye open, looking askance at Anakin. "You gave our position away when you didn't know who—if anyone—was on the other end of the transmission?"

Anakin fights the urge to roll his eyes. It's an _encrypted _channel. No one but a Jedi could get access to it. It's the one thing that _is _safe right now.

"Master, that's a secure Jedi channel."

"Yes, and those clones were also supposed to be on our side. Nothing in war is ever certain, Anakin."

Maybe he should suggest that Obi-Wan employ the use of a second healing trance, because he's not up for another lecture right now, especially since he'll have no answer. He knows it's not wise to give away a location in a situation like this one, but Obi-Wan needs medical help, and Anakin is willing to risk a lot to get it. If something bad happens, he's still got his weapon: he'll be able to defend them. It's worth the risk in order to have the promise of help for Obi-Wan.

Of course, he can't say that aloud, not when Obi-Wan will present him with the reserved expression that occurs when he pulls up all his shields to the point where the closure seems to leak into his facial features. He shows nothing because he is afraid to. No signs of attachment, and he's uncomfortable with those signs in Anakin if they're undeniably blatant. Subtle is acceptable—in that case, he seems content to simply look the other way. It's something of a compromise, and while it's one that doesn't thrill Anakin—he's always wanted more from Obi-Wan—it's better than the true Jedi alternative, which would command that Obi-Wan force Anakin to hide those emotions entirely.

"It'll be fine, Master. Trust me."

"You know that I do, Anakin, but _someone_ has to question you."

Yes, and Obi-Wan certainly does. "Doesn't the entire Jedi Order do that?"

"It's not as though you actually listen."

"And I listen to you?" he asks, arching an eyebrow.

"I'd like to think that you do occasionally."

He does, when it suits him, because what he told Padme years ago is true: Obi-Wan is wise and powerful, and he _is _a great mentor. He is the stability to Anakin's recklessness, and together they make the perfect team, complimenting each other by providing strengths for weaknesses. They balance each other out—as the holonet loves to proclaim, they're "the team."

It's a nice feeling. Obi-Wan raised him from the age of nine on, but this war has sharpened them into people who are more equal. Obi-Wan is still the closest thing he has to a father, and he likely always will be, but he has also become Anakin's friend. They are best friends who know each other's every mannerism and habit. They are closer than brothers.

As such, it's true what Obi-Wan says: Anakin _does _listen to him occasionally.

"Well, I do try to learn from _your_ mistakes, at least," Anakin quips. "It's why I'm still in one piece."

"As long as _you_ are."

There is sincerity in Obi-Wan's voice—a genuine concern—and Anakin truly believes that Obi-Wan would gladly take these injuries to keep him safe. That is the parental element of their relationship. It's not that Anakin wouldn't do the same for Obi-Wan—it's simply that it's in a different fashion. With Obi-Wan, his inclination to protect Anakin is almost instinct, honed from years of caring for a small child who needed that protection. For Anakin, it's a decision born of affection for the man who raised him. One is almost involuntary; the other is a choice.

"I'm fine, Master," he murmurs, because he is, and because he knows it makes Obi-Wan feel better to see that. "And you will be, too."

"You need to set my leg, you know."

He does know. He was simply hoping help would arrive soon enough that he wouldn't need to do it himself, but since he wasn't able to make contact with anyone at the Temple, that doesn't seem likely.

"You want me to do it now?"

"Yes."

The sun has long since gone down, and the only light in their shelter is from Anakin's lightsaber, which he's placed erect in the ground at the corner of the shelter. It's on its lowest setting—it will only sting lightly if either of them touches it, which is certainly better than the severance of a limb that it would usually cause.

In the bluish light that it gives off, the determined set of Obi-Wan's jaw is apparent. He knows this will hurt, and he's prepared to face that. This is the reality of war, and they've been living in it for years now. Both of them have had serious injuries. Both of them have experienced pain.

"I don't know if any of the clones are looking for us. You can't make much noise."

Obi-Wan nods and reaches for Anakin's cloak, placing a swathe of fabric between his teeth. It will give him something to bite down on—to grind his teeth against to stop from screaming.

Reaching out, Anakin uses an existing tear to rip Obi-Wan's legging the rest of the way up. His leg is swollen and warm under Anakin's touch, and Anakin has to take deep breaths. This is so different when it's someone he knows. He sees death every day. This war has been a mess of carnage, but with Obi-Wan, it's so _personal, _and ever since his mother, every injury to someone he cares for brings back up the image of her face.

Anakin doesn't give Obi-Wan the chance to really get ready: it will be worse if he lets him anticipate it. Instead, he reaches out and pops his leg back into place before Obi-Wan can spend much time thinking on how it will feel, or maybe before Anakin can spend too much time thinking about it himself. The feeling of bones shifting back into place under his hands—it's nauseating, and while he knows it's nowhere near as bad for him as it is for Obi-Wan, he still feels a sharp shudder race up his spine.

Even with the cloak, Obi-Wan's cry of pain is audible, though muffled enough that it shouldn't be heard outside the shelter. "Oh, Force," Obi-Wan gasps, falling back against his own cloak and staring at the ceiling as his chest heaves, taking in air. The pain is written on his face, in the way he clenches his jaw and closes his eyes as he fights to regain his breath.

"Let me splint it. That should help with the pain some."

Badly, he wishes he were better with healing. If he were, he could deaden the nerves around the leg, but given his current level of expertise it's risky to do so. He isn't good at it, and a maneuver like that could have complications, which is the last thing Obi-Wan needs right now.

"No, just help me sleep."

"How badly does it hurt?" If he's asking for Anakin to knock him out, he must be in some notable discomfort.

"It's not bad."

Right, and Obi-Wan would say it wasn't bad if he got run over by a speeder. Anakin isn't sure why he even asked. Actually, come to think of it, Obi-Wan _has_ been run over by a speeder during the terrorist bombings on Coruscant, and unless Anakin's memory has suddenly become faulty—which it hasn't—Obi-Wan tried to downplay his injuries once he was in the healer's wing and coherent enough to do so.

Sometimes, Obi-Wan is just impossible.

"Drop your shields and I'll help you fall asleep."

That he can certainly do. He's very good at mind tricks, and Force-induced sleep is a form of that.

"Yes, all right."

Obi-Wan does so and then leans back, closing his eyes. His face is pale in the blue light, pinched with pain, and suddenly Anakin can't put him under fast enough. "'Night, Master," he murmurs, a hand on Obi-Wan's forehead.

Obi-Wan accepts the Force-suggestion with ease, letting himself drift off. He'll be out until morning, maybe a little longer if the suggestion holds. Sometimes it does, sometimes it doesn't, depending on whether or not Obi-Wan's subconscious mind decides to try to fight it off. That's the problem with mind-tricking a Jedi, even if that Jedi is willing to accept the Force manipulation.

Sighing heavily, Anakin makes sure Obi-Wan is situated comfortably and in a way that won't leave him with sore muscles in the morning before he turns off his lightsaber and settles down beside his former master on the other half of the cloak. It's not particularly comfortable—the ground is hard, and there are small lumps of dirt in places—but it's passable, and he pillows his arms under his head in an attempt to prepare for sleep. More than likely, that will take a while. Fine. He's used to that. He often has trouble sleeping, and that difficulty has become almost routine. Just like so much else seems to be, it's just another wait.

War, as Anakin has found, is a lot of waiting. Get your troops in position. Wait for the enemy. Engage the enemy and fight. Then, in the aftermath of the battle, wait for the details of the results. Then wait for reassignment. Wait for good intelligence. Wait to see if your intelligence is right. Wait while the enemy regroups. Wait for the Jedi Temple to get your message. Wait for rescue. It's always about waiting. In that waiting, Obi-Wan is almost always there. They share quarters or, in field missions, a tent, and though Obi-Wan spends much of his time pouring over battle plans and strategy, he at least provides something to fill the silence. Usually, most nights, he and Anakin talk for about a half an hour before they sleep. It's only on the few nights when there isn't any waiting that they don't: those nights when they fall into bed too exhausted to keep their eyes open.

Or, on nights like tonight, when someone is too injured to talk.

These nights are the worst.

With Obi-Wan asleep, there's little else for Anakin to do except try to follow his example. Obi-Wan won't be awake until morning, and in a small dirt hole in the middle of a vast forest with no civilization for miles upon miles, Anakin would rather face his own dreams than the loneliness of silence or the sounds of the woods at night.

Closing his eyes, he pulls the edge of his cloak over himself and curls up with his back to Obi-Wan. He'll have to be careful not to bump the other man in his sleep. Then, in the morning, he probably really will have to splint that leg. There's also breakfast to think about.

He'll worry about it all in the morning.

For now, he'll just wait for sleep.


	4. Chapter 3

**Disclaimer: **I own nothing.

**Feedback**: If you'd be so kind as to leave some, I'll do my best to reply.

**Notes:** ROTS AU.

ThoseWereTheDays: It's always nice to know someone is enjoying my story. Thanks so much! :)

Maddie Rose: That's very true. Poor Obi-Wan always has a tough time of it.

pronker: What can I say? I very much enjoy Obi-Wan/Anakin h/c, so long as it's not of the slash variety.

ObiBettina7: Very true. His attempts do border on absurd at times.

Estora: That certain exert was a bit of a tribute to the ROTS novelization. It's quite an excellent book. Nice catch on Dooku's intentions, too—that's going to play a huge roll.

REV042175: Thanks! The camaraderie between Obi-Wan and Anakin is always fun to write.

XxRandom NemesisxX: Yup, right now, in fact.

Smoochynose: It's going to be a while before Padme's POV is incorporated, but she'll show up. I promise.

Torli: A little of both, perhaps.

* * *

Dooku stares at the hologram before him, taking in every detail of Skywalker's frustrated visage. Handsome face, hair that is worn longish and slightly unkempt, dark eyes. He looks the part of the borderline renegade that he so often insists on playing. How useless. Skywalker has never learned the fine art of controlling emotions so as not to give an opponent an advantage.

Dooku's own face is devoid of emotion, he's sure—something Skywalker doesn't seem capable of—but his inner calm is less stalwart. Kenobi and Skywalker? The poster boys for the war, and two of the most famous Jedi in existence, and they _both_ survive. He's aware of the near miracles they've pulled before, but cheating death in the form of an attack by their own squadron of clones while flying above the atmosphere of a planet is impressive, even by Dooku's standards. Impressive and irritating. It will take extra time—time he didn't want to spend—to rectify this error.

They aren't the only Jedi that survived. Dooku has, in the last hour alone, gained information on more than a dozen others, though none of the other survivors are as prominent. Then, of course, there are others that he hasn't heard from yet, and still more reports of deaths coming from the clones. Nearly all of the Council is dead, Yoda the most important among them. Part of him regrets that—Yoda was his master, after all—but he knows better than anyone that he could not have defeated Yoda individually if it came to that. Geonosis proved that.

No, it is better that he is dead.

Shaking his head, he continues to watch the hologram, analyzing the recent turn of events. This new development doesn't make for an ideal situation, certainly, but Kenobi and Skywalker are only a minor setback. He knows better than anyone that one Jedi—let alone two—can change the course of an entire event, but isn't knowing that the most important thing of all? In knowing their capabilities, he won't underestimate them, and in refusing to do so, he will be equipped to deal with them both. He's bested them before, he can do it again, and this time Yoda won't be there to save the situation.

Dooku doesn't try to stop the small frown that spreads over his face at the thought of his old master. Yoda. He was the Jedi Order's main impediment: at worst, someone who was in power as long as Yoda will be corrupt; at best, he will have become complacent. Yoda didn't allow the Order to change with the times, and as a result, it became stagnant, supporting a corrupt system. His refusal to bend at all has made the Order brittle; his refusal to let it change has kept it from adapting. Inadvertently, that desire to hold fast to tradition also laid a path for Dooku's plans.

It wasn't difficult to gain access to the emergency frequency that the Jedi reserved for situations when no other frequency could be reached. Dooku had once been a Jedi himself, after all. It is slightly amusing to think that the Jedi hadn't switched it even after he'd left the Order: another fine example of a refusal to change. Still, it's not a complete blunder: one has to possess a clearance code to access the frequency. That _has_ been changed since his resignation. However, once he'd entered the Jedi Temple, he had, given his knowledge of other Jedi clearances, been able to sort through the databases until he was able to find the information he needed. In short, no one but a Jedi—or, as in his case, a _former_ Jedi—would have been able to ascertain the clearance code, and, even then, he would have been able to do so only if he had the opportunity to spend a large amount of time unobstructed inside the Jedi Temple.

Thankfully, with the Jedi all lying dead in the hallways and across the galaxy, Dooku had gotten all the time he needed.

Now, several hours later, he is able to identify the location of any Jedi that calls for assistance.

And, conveniently enough, one of those Jedi is Skywalker, with an additional report of Kenobi.

"Is anyone there?" the boy demands, his face twisting with frustration. Goodness, he must have been skilled at pouting when he was a child. The gesture looks slightly out of place on an adult face, and though it is closer to a scowl now, it still strikes Dooku as somewhat childish. Many things about Skywalker do. In some ways, he is mature far beyond his years—war will do that—but in others he is still a spoilt child, told by too many people for too long that he is the Chosen One of prophecy.

Dooku snorts lightly with disdain. Chosen One or not, he has no control. Anakin Skywalker is unpredictable, and even amongst the Jedi, he is nothing to strive for. He is not a Sith, not fit to be a Jedi: he is simply an incredibly talented, overly emotional, volatile individual who was mistakenly trained in the Jedi arts. Again, the Council was so blinded by the hope of power—of the idea that this boy could be their Chosen One—that they disregarded what was right in favor of what might bring them gain.

Anakin Skywalker never should have been trained, plain and simple.

"Is anyone there?" Skywalker says again as Dooku watches. He's already addressed the fact that he and Kenobi are stranded and that Kenobi is injured. Foolish boy. He should know better than to divulge information like that if he's not sure who's listening.

Again, Dooku shakes his head. Beyond the raw talent and obvious anger, he's not certain what Sidious ever saw in this boy. Even a Sith must have emotional control, and that is what Skywalker is lacking most. He must give Kenobi fits.

Kenobi. Dooku can't help the spark of interest that ignites within him at the thought of the man. In all honesty, Kenobi is the equivalent of his grandson, the padawan of his padawan. He is all that is left of Dooku's legacy… and, truth be told, Dooku finds that he can never quite shake the interest that he has in him.

He admires Kenobi and that quiet strength he possess. He has a dedication and discipline that few will ever obtain, and he is a true Jedi, made even more intriguing in Dooku's eyes because of one major flaw that most don't see: he loves too much. His promise to train Skywalker? Born from attachment. His continued loyalty to Skywalker? Also attachment. He loved Qui-Gon, and he loves Skywalker. That is, though Kenobi tries hard to hide it, even from himself, a weakness.

Leaning back a little further in his chair, Dooku continues to study the figure in the hologram in front of him. Skywalker is a handsome boy, certainly. Powerful. Talented. Kenobi must be proud... just as Dooku was of Qui-Gon. Every dedicated master feels that particular emotion for a successful apprentice, because no matter what the Order would like to say, an apprentice is a master's child. They raise them, protect them, and care for them. Given the laws on marriage, it is the only legacy they will ever create.

"If you get this message, please send a rescue team," Skywalker says finally, still looking entirely frustrated. "Master Kenobi needs medical attention as soon as possible. Skywalker out."

Yes, he'd spoken of Kenobi's condition already. Some broken bones, a concussion, and various other bumps and bruises—not that it will matter if Dooku decides to do what he's done with all the other Jedi who have made contact.

A simple call will send the clones in that area to Kenobi and Skywalker's position. With just an order, he can finish them.

But, now that he thinks on it, he's not entirely certain that he wants to.

Furrowing his brow, Dooku puts a hand to his chin in thought. It's no good to lie to himself. He knows why he's considering sparing Obi-Wan, and it can be simplified to one thing: his former padawan. Dooku loved Qui-Gon, and he knows that Qui-Gon loved Obi-Wan. He has ordered Kenobi's death once before already, but later, after he'd fled Geonosis, he'd been strangely glad that he hadn't finished the man off. It seemed something of a last favor to Qui-Gon.

And there is something about Kenobi that intrigues him.

Pushing a few buttons, Dooku saves the hologram of Skywalker before putting himself through to the clones in the sector where Kenobi and Skywalker are. Even as he's making contact, he questions the wisdom of his decision. It seems frivolous, an indulgence of emotions that he'd thought long suppressed. But, then, he can afford those emotions now, can't he, so long as he keeps them restrained? He has his victory. What harm can there be in permitting himself a slight allowance?

Kenobi will be nothing. Just a last favor to a man Dooku cared for, and because the dead cannot betray him, surely he can allow himself affection for his deceased padawan? Yes, surely. Perhaps, if things work out as he'd like, Kenobi might even prove himself useful. Dooku has always been interested in him, after all. Before, circumstances had prohibited him from expounding on that, but now—well, now he is in the position to take the time and resources to possibly maneuver Kenobi into a position that will make him of more use. A project, if you will. Not that the galaxy won't be enough of one, but this is something personal. He will enjoy finding out more about this man who has intrigued him for so long, this padawan of his padawan. Nearly family. The last of Dooku's line. Yes, a link most definitely worth exploring further.

"I want Kenobi and Skywalker brought in. _Alive_."

The clone never pauses. If the order seems strange to him, he doesn't question it. "Yes, my Lord."

"Very good."

* * *

Obi-Wan wakes to the noise of some variety of bird. There is no sound of speeders outside his window, or of Anakin knocking on his door hoping for some breakfast. Clearly, he is not on Coruscant.

It takes a few moments to remember the previous day's events. Of course, the pain in his body is a vivid enough reminder, though certainly not the type of recall aid that he enjoys. Really, a holovid of his time on this planet would be sufficient, or, better yet, a nice mailcard with a picture featuring the planet's best features.

"You awake, Master?"

He grimaces and scrubs a hand over his forehead. "Regrettably." Anakin is visible in the dim light of the shelter. There are thin rays of sunlight streaking over his face, filtered in from a small opening that Obi-Wan guesses is the part of the doorway that Anakin dared to leave uncovered.

"Hungry? The rations in our ships' emergency packs survived the crash."

"Oh, ration bars? Goodness, you should have woken me sooner." He really should check the sarcasm in his voice but, well, Anakin knows him—knows it's not really directed at him—and he can't find the inclination to do so when his leg is throbbing something awful.

"I'll keep that in mind for next time."

"Don't even joke about that. I'd prefer not to repeat this particular experience."

Anakin hands him an opened ration bar, and Obi-Wan takes a bite, forcing himself to ignore the taste. It's food. He's had far worse. He will probably have far worse at some point in the future.

"Any sign of help?" he asks between mouthfuls.

Anakin shakes his head. "Nothing. I'll go work on the starfighter today."

"And if you can't fix it?"

"When have I ever not been able to get something mechanical to work?" he asks, looking vaguely insulted.

"In the event that this becomes the first time."

"Well, then I hope you like the woods, Master, because we might be here a while. At least until your leg heals and we can walk to the nearest village, anyway."

Force, forbid. He does _not _enjoy sleeping in the dirt on his cloak with only Anakin's cloak as a blanket. It's true that he's had worse accommodations than this, but that does not mean that he has to like it, nor does it mean that he should endeavor to spend more time than necessary here. That's simply impractical.

"Yes. I suggest you prove your mechanical prowess and fix the fighter."

Anakin grins, teasingly plucking Obi-Wan's empty ration bar wrapper out of his hand. "Not looking forward to a diet of these, huh?" he jokes before crumpling it up and tossing it in the corner of the shelter. He also manages to entirely ignore Obi-Wan's stern glare at the messy habit. That, at least, is the same as when they shared quarters before Anakin was knighted. Though, Anakin still shows up at his apartment often enough around mealtimes that Obi-Wan hasn't yet been able to enjoy the luxury of not having his quarters sullied by a messy former-apprentice.

"No, I—"

A noise outside stops them both.

For most people, a noise shouldn't be a reason for pause. Most likely, it will be nothing. Just an animal, maybe, but they've been in war long enough to know that any noise _can_ be something, and the possibility alone is enough to merit a check. Because if they don't check and it _is_ something? They'll be _dead_.

Obi-Wan glances over at Anakin, watching as the other man tenses, all playfulness disappearing in the space of a few seconds. Now, as his hand closes over his lightsaber and he silently slides toward the entrance, there is only seriousness in his face. There is no trace of the child Obi-Wan once knew, and also nothing left of the playful man who was sitting beside him moments before. This man is a warrior, prepared to kill if that's what it takes.

This is what the war has formed Anakin into, and even amidst the uneasiness that is raising the hairs on the back of Obi-Wan's neck, he finds that he regrets that.

They exchange no words—there is no need. At some point over their years together, they learned to communicate on pointed looks and gestures alone, and sometimes even on just intuition. Obi-Wan knows what Anakin intends to do, just as Anakin knows what Obi-Wan is thinking.

Obi-Wan's hand goes to his own weapon, but as his fingers slide over the smooth metal, he knows that it will be useless. He can't walk, and one of his arms is too injured to be of any help. If Anakin cannot eliminate the threat, there will be no chance of running or of fighting back—not for Obi-Wan. That feeling of helplessness irritates him almost to the point of anger, and ignoring the pain, he grits his teeth and pushes himself to the right of the doorway, where he'll have a chance to cut down any invader before they get a chance to have a good look at their surroundings. The fact that they'll be mostly blinded by the sudden darkness will also be to his advantage.

Of course, he knows that if there are enough of them to take down Anakin, any effort on his part won't make a difference.

As Anakin slips out the doorway into the woods, Obi-Wan leans against the dirt wall, listening so hard that suddenly everything sounds loud. Every breath he takes seems to shake the walls around him, and the noise of dirt scrapping off the sides of the entryway as Anakin exits rings in his ears as if the whole shelter were falling.

When it comes, the sound of a lightsaber igniting, followed by shots, seems like the loudest thing Obi-Wan has ever heard. Every time he hears those things at the start of a battle, they always do. More death. More destruction. Perhaps this time it will be his own.

There are cries from outside—not Anakin's—but still familiar enough that Obi-Wan knows them. Clones. They've been found, then. Now, the question becomes how many are here, and are reinforcements far away? The later bit of information will make a difference if by some chance he and Anakin get the opportunity—no matter how unlikely—to flee the scene. They won't be able to move quickly, and the only way they'll have a chance is if the reinforcements are far off.

There a more shots, the hum of a lightsaber, and then a gasp of pain that Obi-Wan knows well. It cuts straight to his heart, more effectively than any lightsaber could, and he strains, listening, desperate to hear the sound of a lightsaber again. There's nothing. He knows Anakin is down, and if he could, he would disregard all reason and push himself up and out of this hole and do something. What, he doesn't know, but just about anything would be better than sitting here, just waiting for them to find him.

Instead, he hears a muffled gasp of pain—Anakin's—and then a clone's voice. "Stand down, General. We have orders for your capture. _Alive_. Other than that, the state of health isn't specified: that is entirely up to you."

That voice—it's chilling. For years now he and Anakin have fought beside those men. They were brothers in arms. Obi-Wan _trusted _them. He trusted them with his life. He thought they trusted him with theirs. Did they? Was any of it real? Honestly, that may be the worst part of betrayal: it taints all the good memories until they cut as deeply as bad ones.

To know that they betrayed him hurts more than he cares to admit.

A stream of Huttesse swears spill from Anakin's mouth. Still, no sound of a lightsaber, which Obi-Wan takes to mean that Anakin has been disarmed.

"Where is General Kenobi?"

"Dead," Anakin snaps quickly, his voice sounding appropriately choked, but controlled, as if Anakin is fighting down his emotions. It sounds convincing, but these clones know them. This isn't like fooling an enemy who has no experience with them. They've slept in barracks with these men. They've been in the trenches with them. These men know their tricks. They know their mannerisms. They know _them._

"Search the shelter," he hears the clone command.

Instinctively, Obi-Wan braces himself against the wall, ignoring the feeling of dirt smudging over his skin and into his pores and hair. He likely won't be able to take out any more than one or two of the clones, but in the event that Anakin finds a way to take down the rest, even that would help. Still, he doesn't relish the idea of cutting down men who have been his comrades. It feels so wrong, so _entirely _wrong. They are his brothers. His friends. Or, at least, they _were_.

But, sometimes, war and survival call for things that no one _wants _to do.

The first clone falls quickly, his head rolling away into the shelter in a manner that, at the beginning of the war, would have turned Obi-Wan's stomach. It doesn't anymore. He's seen too much death, and he understands the necessity.

Unfortunately, the clones figure out his position rather quickly, and the second one comes in ready, blaster pointed straight at him. That doesn't matter—those blasters will be set on stun if what the clones told Anakin is true. If not, well, then this will be his end, and so he takes the swing anyway. Even if the gun is not on stun, he'd rather do that then sit here passively and let them find him. He doesn't fear the possible results as much as some would: a blaster shot to a major organ is a fairly quick way to die.

He kills the clone just as he fires. The stun bolt hits Obi-Wan straight in the chest, and he slams backward into the wall, his broken bones jostling and sending waves of agony through him. It hurts so much, and if he could move, he'd cry out, but he can't, can't at _all_, and all he can do is suffer silently, desperately hoping that Anakin can find a way to escape from this mess.

Before he blacks out, he at least has the time to feel pleased that he went down fighting.

That's something, at least.

* * *

Anakin has seldom wanted to kill a being as much as he wants to kill Commander Cody when he sends men down into the shelter after Obi-Wan. This man owes his entire career—his _life_, many times over—to the person he is now betraying.

He's not thinking when he lunges forward, slamming his elbow into the face of one of the two clones holding him. They should never have removed their helmets, and Anakin hopes it hurts—hopes it breaks his nose and shoves it up into his brain. Even now that he's been disarmed and Cody is holding his lightsaber, he's prepared to tear these clones apart with his bare hands if that is what it takes.

A blaster held to his head makes him reconsider that.

"General, don't make us hurt you," Cody says seriously, as if he really cares.

Anakin resists the urge to spit in his face. He's better than that. He is. "You just tried to _kill _us."

"We had orders, Sir."

"From whom?"

"That's classified."

"General Kenobi is your commanding officer. I am also your superior. I just asked you a question. Protocol demands that you answer it."

Cody simply shakes his head and glances over to where another clone has gone down into the shelter and is now pulling Obi-Wan's body out. He's not dead, Anakin knows—he would have felt their bond snap—but the sight of him limp and silent is enough to bring to mind his nightmares, and that shakes him. He hates it when Obi-Wan is still like that, as though he'll never move again, just like his mother.

"You aren't anymore, Sir. No Jedi is."

"What are you talking about?"

"We don't take orders from you anymore. I'm sorry."

"Five Corellian Hells you are!" Anakin shouts, lunging at him again. They can shoot him in the head if they like. At least it will irritate whoever apparently wants them brought in alive.

Instead, he takes the butt of a blaster to the skull.

He hits the ground heavily, just barely able to get his hands under him. His vision blurs, and he has to blink rapidly to keep his sight somewhat normal. He will not do a face plant in the dirt. He has his dignity to maintain.

From Anakin's place on the ground, he can see Cody's boots appear in his line of sight. "We can stun you if we have to, Sir, but we'd prefer if you just come with us quietly."

Frankly, if it were just himself, Anakin would prefer to keep fighting… but it's not just his own life. Obi-Wan is injured, and there's a nagging sense inside of him that feels the need to at least watch and complain loudly if Obi-Wan doesn't get the care he needs. They likely won't listen to him, but as Obi-Wan has often told him, his whining can make him a great nuisance when he wants it to.

"Fine," he mumbles, face twisting in a scowl.

He lets them put a pair of binders on him, securing his hands behind his back. Thankfully, they appear to have brought a medical capsule with them, and as Anakin watches, a medic does a quick scan of Obi-Wan before several clones hoist him up and inside it.

"He's got a broken arm and leg, two broken ribs, and a concussion," Anakin tells them sourly. "He better at least get treatment."

"We've been authorized to give it, Sir," Cody replies, inclining his head toward the clones who loaded Obi-Wan into the capsule. "General Kenobi will receive good care."

"According to you, he's not your general anymore."

"That's true, Sir."

True? What's _true? _Well, what's true is that Anakin would like nothing more than to give Cody matching injuries. That desire is certainly a turnabout, given that until about a day ago, he's always thought of the clones as friends—as individuals. Now, they're appearing more and more similar to droids, programmed to do a job. They take orders without question. They don't feel loyalty. All they're made for is war.

He can't understand it. All the time they've spent together, the stories they've shared, the numerous occasions when the Jedi have saved the lives of clones, and they take an order to kill their generals without a second thought.

He suddenly feels a lot less badly about all the clones who have died in this war.

Fixing Cody with a hard stare, Anakin begins walking when the clones beside him pull him forward. "Someday," he murmurs, his voice low and threatening, "I hope that you feel what it's like to have your men turn on you."

"It is nothing personal, Sir. Just duty."

"Yes, and that man you just tried to kill always upheld what he considered to be a duty to protect _you_ if possible. Only a coward wouldn't return the favor."

Anakin stops briefly in front of Cody, ignoring the continued pressure on his arms. Right now, he can hardly contain what he feels. He wants to do something—anything—to show how furious he is. But there is nothing he can do. The only action he is capable of taking is to stare Cody straight in the face and make him look into the eyes of one of the men he tried to kill.

It's not enough.

"We had orders," Cody says simply, meeting his stare. There is no remorse there. None at all.

"Yeah, I bet you did."

Then, he walks on. There is nothing he can do for now, and like the good strategist he is, he begins to regroup, and mentally starts to prepare for the moment when he'll have his chance. He will be ready when that moment arrives. These clones will not walk free after all the damage they have caused.

Anakin won't let them.

In the back of his mind, there is a niggling of conscience, of the idea that these are not the thoughts of a Jedi. A Jedi does not seek revenge… but he is not the Jedi he should be, and his entire being screams for retribution. He can't believe that such a desire is of the dark side. It is justice that needs to be given, and nothing more.

The danger comes in the fact that Anakin craves the right to personally be the one to administer that justice.


	5. Chapter 4

**Disclaimer: **I own nothing.

**Feedback**: If you'd be so kind as to leave some, I'll do my best to reply.

**Notes:** ROTS AU.

I also posted a new video over at YouTube. If you'd be so kind as to go check it out, it's called Broken: Obi-Wan and Luke. I don't think I'm allowed to link directly on this site, so just search that title at YouTube, and it should pop up.

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pronker: Mm, Anakin hasn't turned away from the dark quite yet. Palpatine didn't create the darkness, after all, he just nurtured it. Haha, and, yes, bring the Band-Aids!

DragonFire44: Sorry to say, but Yoda is indeed dead. Thanks for reading!

Torli: I see your point about Obi-Wan not wanting to fight, but I don't think he's the sort of person to surrender easily. Good point, though. I'm glad you caught the part about Anakin's whining. I enjoyed writing that. :)

Mo Angel: Thank the rabid plot bunnies. I really don't know how I come up with these things.

Mastrada101: I'm not a huge fan of Ahsoka, so she won't feature in this story, but I'll definitely try to give your story a look.

sitara-asha: I completely agree with you on your opinion about Anakin, the Jedi Order, and the Order's policy of denying attachment. It couldn't work, and especially not for Anakin. Like the part of Yoda being "cold-blooded". Puns amuse me. :) Unfortunately, he is dead, though dark side Yoda might be fun. I'm also very glad you find Obi-Wan to be a good, strong character. That's what I like very much about him. As far as Anakin's ability to put others before himself, I really believe his character can. The problem comes in the fact that he cares so much that he can't accept loss, which is, oddly enough, a type of selfishness, even though it's born from caring for others.

Yenneffer: Thanks so much. Hearing that my characters seem almost alive is really the greatest compliment I can receive.

Kioshie: Thanks!

ObiBettina7: Dooku's going to find Obi-Wan isn't as cooperative as he'd like… and Obi-Wan is going to find that the dark side isn't as simple to resist as _he'd _like.

xXJedi Knight BlazeXx: I won't promise about Anakin either way, other than to say that issue will factor heavily. Padme will certainly be in this story, but as of now, Mace and the other Jedi will not.

Estora: Ah, yes, real life, I know it well… unfortunately. Also, I'm glad it's coming across that Dooku is different from Sidious. The way I want to write him, I intend for him to be a _little _(not much) more human. While I enjoy Sidious' character (because he's so delightfully crafty and subtle), I more enjoy characters who aren't completely light or dark. I like my heroes to have flaws and my villains to have some shred of humanity. It makes their characters more complex and fascinating. I feel sorry for the clones as well—that'd be a pretty bad life. And, yes, Anakin is still in a dangerous place, Sidious or not.

XxRandom NemesisxX: That confrontation won't come this chapter, but it's going to be soon.

* * *

Once, Obi-Wan knew what it was like to routinely wake up to something other than pain or discomfort. With the onset of the Clone Wars, those days became a regrettably distant memory. Now, the chances of him waking up without pain, without fatigue, dry, and in no discomfort whatsoever are almost nonexistent. Maybe some lucky day that will eventually happen again.

Today is certainly not going to be that day.

"Your leg and arm are in a brace until we get wherever we're going, your ribs are wrapped, and most of your cuts are bandaged."

At first, Obi-Wan doesn't bother to open his eyes to confirm that Anakin is there. He knows his voice. After all the mornings of waking to Anakin's chatter during the war when they shared a tent, he doesn't need his sight to confirm what his hearing has already told him.

Ironically, Anakin always seems to be around when Obi-Wan is in discomfort. He has to wonder whether that's because Anakin is simply loyal enough to stay or because half the time he causes the discomfort in the first place.

"You don't know where we're going?" he asks, finally blinking his eyes open. The lighting isn't harsh, and after a few tries he's able to focus on Anakin.

"I'd guess back to Coruscant, but it's hard to tell. According to the clones, it's _classified_." The last word comes out dripping with venom. Clearly, Anakin's been told that a lot today.

"Still sure that encrypted channel was secure?"

Anakin scowls and shoots him a nasty glare. To most people, Obi-Wan is aware that it's probably quite fearsome, but after having dealt with that same glare in every stage of adolescence, he is hard-pressed to find it intimidating.

"They could have just found us because they were searching!" Anakin snaps. "Did you think of that?"

It's possible, though unlikely. Anakin covered their tracks well… though, clearly, not well enough, given that they're now confined in a small room on what probably used to be a ship they once either commanded or used for transport. Obi-Wan certainly never anticipated being in the detention area, at any rate.

"How many more clones were there?" he asks, choosing to ignore Anakin's temper.

Anakin, however, doesn't seem quite ready to let it go: there's still a residual frown in his expression as he answers, "Twenty. They had the place surrounded. I couldn't take them down when I was faced with them on every side."

"I'm not blaming you."

"No, but I'm blaming myself."

"You shouldn't. You ought to place that blame where it belongs, at the feet of whomever orchestrated this."

"Yes, and then release it to the Force, right?" he counters sarcastically, rolling his eyes. "Don't lecture me."

Some days, Obi-Wan is not entirely sure how he survived Anakin's teen years when the boy was like this far too frequently. Often, he's not sure how he's even surviving _now_.

Anakin is his best friend. His brother. His son. As such, Obi-Wan sees his faults more clearly than most. Anakin is moody, given toward brooding, and he possesses a temper that Obi-Wan finds quite disturbing at times. He has some of the greatest raw power that the Jedi Order has ever known, but he can't always control it. He can't even control _himself_.

Anakin has many flaws, but imperfections or not, Obi-Wan would never want another partner. There is no other Jedi he trusts as much as he trusts Anakin, and even with all of Anakin's problems, that's something that cannot be discounted. He can't help feeling that trust. He raised the boy, and despite every teaching the Order ever gave him, Anakin is in his heart whether Obi-Wan acknowledges it or not. Most of the time he doesn't acknowledge it. He just lets it be and keeps on tolerating Anakin's misbehavior in favor of his more redeeming qualities in a way that he couldn't do during Anakin's teen years when he was still charged with being the disciplinarian. But now—_now_ Anakin's faults aren't officially his responsibility, even if he still can't quite shake the feeling that, whether or not it's official, they _are._

Still, for now, he doesn't have the energy to consider that ambiguous concept.

Sighing, he says nothing in reply to Anakin's complaints about a lecture, instead choosing to observe the room around him. It's not large, and it's entirely metal with the exception of the red energy field that's designed to keep them in it. Just a normal cell. There's no furniture, either, and it takes him a moment to realize that the only reason his head is elevated is because he's lying on a balled up tunic. It's darker than his own, and the residual Force signature on the clothing is not his own. A quick glance up at Anakin revels that it is indeed his former padawan's outer tunic.

When he looks up, Anakin catches his eye, but looks away a little too quickly for it to be natural. The way he ducks his head to the side—it's ashamed, and almost like he's hiding. In so many ways, it's a leftover from when he was a child: when he was young, he'd draw his knees to his chest and look away, like he was steeling himself for a blow.

Then, he'd apologize.

It took Obi-Wan a long time to figure out whether Anakin was apologizing because he was sorry, or simply because he didn't want to face consequences. In that, at least, he was like any other child. Unfortunately, most other children didn't equate punishments with beating.

"I'm sorry. I'm not angry at you."

Yes, and there is the apology that Obi-Wan suspected he'd get if he waited long enough. Thankfully, this time it's sincere."I know," he says quietly. "But, Anakin, you do need to control your temper. A Jedi should not harbor anger."

He feels another spark of that same volatile emotion, but Anakin doesn't verbally express it, probably because he's still contrite enough from his earlier outburst. It's a small blessing, but Obi-Wan will take what he can get at this point.

In an attempt to soften his words, he adds, "Thank you for the tunic."

Anakin just nods, letting his head fall back against the wall. He looks tired, with dark smudges under his eyes and a heavy line to his jaw that means he's clenching his teeth. Even his hair looks flatter than usual, as though it hasn't the energy to keep a form.

"You should sleep."

"No. Someone needs to watch to make sure we're awake if anyone comes, and you need the rest more than I do."

"Anakin, if they want to kill us, they can do it whether we're asleep or awake. We have no weapons. No defense. It won't matter. And I've already slept a good amount. Anyway, you'll need the rest once we get back to what we assume will be Coruscant."

Anakin tilts his head to the side and glances at him. From that angle, he appears even more exhausted—the slight tilt makes it seem as though he can hardly hold his head up. Obi-Wan looks back at him, reading the fatigue hanging in his eyes.

"You're sure you don't mind?"

"I can keep watch for awhile."

"You'll stay lying down? Until you spend some time in a bacta tank, you shouldn't be moving too much."

Obi-Wan spreads Anakin's outer tunic further along the floor, offering the other edge to Anakin. It's not much, but it'll be better than sleeping on metal. "I'll stay lying down."

He sees the moment Anakin gives in. It's a soft acceptance in his gaze, a sort of relief. He slides down next to Obi-Wan, shoving his head into the fabric and exhaling heavily. "Wake me up if they come. I want another round with Cody."

He raises an eyebrow. "Did you ever actually engage him in the first round?"

Anakin doesn't bother to raise his head from the tunic. "A minor detail," he mutters, face muffled by the fabric. "I will next time. He'll deserve it."

Truthfully, Obi-Wan doesn't want to argue. He's feeling the sting of the clones' betrayal as keenly as Anakin is, but the way Anakin is talking, it sounds very much like he's waking a thin line between justice and revenge, and that could be just as potentially damaging to Anakin as it could to any clone. "A Jedi doesn't seek revenge, Anakin," he replies with a sigh, aware that it probably won't be taken well.

It isn't. Anakin finally looks up at him, rolling his eyes and frowning heavily. "It's justice."

"Maybe. However, justice and revenge can come in the same action—it is simply the motives that cause the difference between the two."

"And if my motive is to make sure that they don't do to anyone else what they've done to us?" he asks heatedly.

"Then it's justice. But if your motive is to pay them back for what they'vedone to us, that is revenge, and it has no place in your life. Don't deceive yourself into thinking that your motives are pure when in actuality they are not."

"Are you questioning my motives?" There's an edge of real anger growing in his voice, but Obi-Wan has never been someone who backs down from a fight—especially not one with Anakin.

"If you're this angry about me doing so, perhaps you ought to take a serious look at exactly why an accusation of that nature irritates you so intensely."

That has clearly hit a mark. Anakin's cheeks redden, and he clenches his jaw harder. "If I want your opinion, I'll ask for it."

That's Anakin: so quick to anger, and so ruled by passion. Obi-Wan's tried—he really has—but he can't figure out where he went wrong in teaching Anakin. What makes the boy like this?

He sighs, regretting the action instantly when he feels it in his ribs. He can't hide his flinch of pain, and immediately he feels Anakin's growing anger in the Force dissipate in favor of concern.

"Are you all right?" he asks, pushing himself up on his elbows as he studies Obi-Wan intently for any further signs of discomfort.

"I'm fine, Anakin." The emotional part of him wants very much to inflect those words with annoyance, but they come out flat instead. He doesn't want to fight right now, and certainly not with Anakin. He's too tired, in too much pain, and too unsure of whom he can trust. At the moment, Anakin is the only man whose loyalties he _is _sure of, and Force help him, he doesn't want to fight with the only person he trusts to have his back.

There's silence for a moment. It won't last, Obi-Wan knows, and within a few seconds, he's proven correct.

"Didn't they have any loyalty at all?" Anakin asks finally, rolling over onto his back to stare up at the ceiling. Obi-Wan can't see his eyes, but he's sure that if he looked, they'd be distant, staring off at something that only Anakin can see. It's a habit of his, and often times Obi-Wan wonders exactly what part of his former padawan he has left to see… because there is something about himself that Anakin is withholding.

"The clones?"

Anakin runs a hand through his hair. "Yeah."

"I'd like to think so."

"They said they had orders from a person higher up. But it was just so _quick_. They didn't think about it. They just tried to _kill_ us, like they were never loyal at all."

"I don't want to believe that's the case."

"Neither do I. But _do_ you?"

Maybe. Maybe not. He hasn't really let himself think about it. In addition to all the physical pain he's in, he doesn't really want to add emotional difficulties, especially when he shouldn't be feeling those emotions at all—and he shouldn't. Those emotions come from attachment. He cared about the clones, and he subconsciously expected the same in return. It's not wrong to feel betrayed, but he should easily be able to release those feelings to the Force.

"No," he answers, because even if he's not quite sure he believes it, he's not ready to consider the alternative just yet. "I think they were loyal enough that nothing short of an order from a superior could have made them do what they did. In any other situation, I believe they would have stood by us."

"That's not good enough. If that's the case, it's not real loyalty—their loyalty was only fabricated from a sense of duty. They stood by us out of _obligation_."

"It doesn't mean that they never enjoyed our company or that they didn't respect us."

"No," Anakin mutters, "it just means that they valued their orders above any relationship they had to the point where they could destroy someone they might have felt a sense of fraternity with simply because they were told to. They didn't have any relationships that could impede what they were called to do."

Just like the Jedi. No attachments. Theoretically, if an order came from a superior, and it was ethically the right thing to do, a Jedi ought to be able to turn on their comrades just as easily as the clones did. It's only attachment that stops someone from doing so, and a Jedi is not supposed to have that.

Obi-Wan isn't sure he's quite comfortable with that thought.

Beyond attachment, what makes a Jedi different from a clone? The use of the Force? Is that it? What about people who aren't Force-sensitive? What makes them different from a clone? The answer is obvious, and it's the one he doesn't want to face: the clones were genetically altered to be more docile and to accept orders without question.

Their life is duty at the expense of any personal attachment.

"We can't dwell on it," he says quietly, rather than voicing what he's thinking. "It won't help us. It will only cloud our judgment."

Anakin mumbles something under his breath and turns back over, shoving his cheek into the tunic. "I know," he says finally, his voice soft and tired. "I don't want to think about it anymore anyway."

"Then don't. Take a nap instead."

"You sure you'll be all right?"

"I'm sure."

With one final deep breath, Anakin lets his eyelids flutter closed. He looks younger like that, more like the boy Obi-Wan trained. Sometimes, Obi-Wan can hardly fathom where all the years went. It doesn't seem so long ago that Anakin was pestering him about when he'd get to make his own lightsaber, and now the man that boy became uses that very weapon to kill on a daily basis.

It takes a few minutes before Anakin's breathing evens out, but he drops off to sleep fairly quickly, belaying how tired he truly is. The lines of his face smooth out, and some hair drops into his eyes obscuring Obi-Wan's view of his face. He even begins snoring softly, which he only does when he's deeply exhausted.

The sound makes Obi-Wan smile. It reminds him of times when Anakin was younger, when he had nightmares that sent him running to Obi-Wan's bedside, looking for comfort. Obi-Wan had let him crawl into bed with him, where Anakin had often fallen asleep curled against him, occasionally making that same soft snuffling sound that he's making now.

The noise brings back happy memories—reminders of a simpler time when there was no war to fight.

Someday, he hopes those days will return. To again know a time when Jedi are simply keepers of the peace and not soldiers is something that he desperately wants, but that he only lets himself think about in the quiet moments. He's tired of war and carnage, of seeing men he knows with their legs blown off or of orphaned children crying for their parents. He doesn't want to be a general. He doesn't want any of that. Now, as much as he ever did, he simply wants to be a Jedi: a keeper of the peace and not a soldier.

That is, if there's even still a Jedi Order.

The clones fired on them. Anakin couldn't get anyone on an emergency frequency. Obi-Wan hasn't felt so much as a ripple in the Force from people searching for them. He doesn't want to consider the possibility that this episode wasn't entirely isolated to their squadron, but he can't quite keep it from his mind.

What if this also happened to a good portion of the Order? What then? What will he do? Who are he and Anakin even being taken to? How did any of this happen?

So many questions, and Obi-Wan has always disliked flying blind, no matter the context. He's a master of strategy, but in order to develop a plan, information is needed, and he doesn't have any of that here. He's completely without knowledge about this situation.

It's an effort, but after a few moments he reaches out to the Force, releasing his anxieties into it. The Force has never betrayed him before, and he's not willing to believe that it will now. Isn't the fact that he and Anakin survived proof of that?

No, he will trust in the Force, just as he always has.


	6. Chapter 5

**Disclaimer: **I own nothing.

**Feedback**: If you'd be so kind as to leave some, I'll do my best to reply.

**Notes:** ROTS AU.

And here we finally go: Dooku meets Obi-Wan face to face.

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imagination theater: Thanks, and Obi-Wan is my favorite, too. :)

DragonFire44: Sorry to say, but Yoda is indeed dead. Thanks for reading!

Torli: Thank you so, so much! :)

truthfullies66: Haha, I'm glad you discovered this story, too. :) It's also nice to hear that you liked Fire and Ice so much—that story is kind of my baby. You're also right about Anakin being in a bit of trouble. Dooku does have a reason to keep him alive, however—it just doesn't have much to do with Anakin.

DragonFire44: I'm assuming other Jedi survived, but they won't factor much into this story… at least I don't think so—it's not all written yet. Yoda won't be in this, though.

Bremics: Yes, but Dooku had managed to thoroughly usurp the Supreme Chancellor's office. That is to say that the Order would have come from the same place, with the same clearance, as it would have if Palpatine had issued it himself.

Mo Angel: Sidious is dead, so they'll be going to Dooku.

ObiBettina7: Dooku's going to find Obi-Wan isn't as cooperative as he'd like… and Obi-Wan is going to find that the dark side isn't as simple to resist as _he'd _like.

xXJedi Knight BlazeXx: I won't promise about Anakin either way, other than to say that issue will factor heavily. Padme will certainly be in this story, but as of now, Mace and the other Jedi will not.

Anakinpadmekenobi: Dooku is going to give it his best shot.

* * *

Dooku isn't entirely sure why he feels the need to be on the landing pad when Kenobi and Skywalker arrive. It's a useless waste of his time. An additional hour or two, and he could easily meet them at a more convenient location. Perhaps it is simple curiosity.

It's also possible that he wants to see exactly what he's won.

He's bringing two of the most noted Jedi in this war back to Coruscant as prisoners. That's something to be proud of. He's fought years for this and, finally, he's proven that he is superior to the Order he was once a part of.

Yes, he decides with a small smirk. That is what he wants: he wants to see Kenobi's and Skywalker's faces when they realize what they have lost.

Looking upwards, he watches as the transport descends toward him. The wind generated from it ruffles the edges of his cloak, and he draws it tighter around himself, keeping his eye on the transport as it finally lands on the metal platform with a soft sigh of gears turning and pressure releasing.

Scarcely half a minute later, the doors open and the ramp slides down with a small amount of mechanical grinding. Two clone troopers immerge first, followed shortly by a medical capsule, which floats easily behind them. The clone troopers' report was true, then: Kenobi sustained serious injuries. He's sedated now, just to make things a little simpler, and also to make the transition to a medicenter smoother.

Skywalker comes out next, hands cuffed behind his back and arms held by a clone on each side. At first, his eyes are still on the medical capsule holding Kenobi, as if he doesn't quite believe that the clones don't intend to hurt his master. Touching, if somewhat misplaced. Dooku ordered them not to cause harm… and they've proven how well they follow orders.

"They have instructions not to harm him, Skywalker," Dooku announces, tucking his hands behind his back and standing up a bit straighter as he watches the boy walk down the ramp.

Yes. This is what he wants—why he came to see them land. He wanted to witness that disbelief blossoming on Skywalker's face. He knows what the boy is thinking: this is Coruscant. Dooku can't be on Coruscant. It's unthinkable. The entire Republic is looking for him.

Then, something in Skywalker's eyes shifts, and the boy puts it all together. The cracking of his control is so obvious as to be almost physical, and Dooku can certainly feel it in the Force, where Skywalker's emotions radiate with the knowledge that nothing will _ever_ be the same again. There's so much anger there, and so little control that Dooku doesn't even bother to try to check his small sneer. How could anyone in the Order have ever believed this child fit to be a Jedi?

"This was all _you_!" Skywalker snarls, lunging forward against the clones. His feet scrabble against the metal of the landing platform, but the two clones dig in their heels and hold him.

It's not much of a surprise when they suddenly go flying backward, pushed with the Force.

It's such a superfluous act, almost as entirely pointless as when Skywalker rushed him on Geonosis. This boy is so consumed with delusions of his own power that he believes he can do something so entirely stupid with no consequences. He is still bound with cuffs that the Force cannot undo, he is unarmed, and he is also faced with someone who has bested him soundly in a duel already. Skywalker may truly believe that he can defeat just about anyone with one hand tied behind his back, but surely he's not foolish enough to think he can do it with both hands restrained and with no weapon? Even _his _delusions of grandeur cannot be _that _profound.

Dooku draws his lightsaber when Skywalker advances on him. Apparently, he still has some sense left: he pulls up short when faced with the red blade.

"Truly, are you this thoughtless?" Dooku asks, enjoying the condescension in his own voice. Skywalker has earned it.

As he speaks, the clones are already getting to their feet, this time with blasters drawn and pointed at Skywalker. Their step is slightly shaken, but their training keeps them steady enough for Dooku's liking. No one is perfect. "What, exactly, did this juvenile display gain you, with the exception of my displeasure?"

Oh, that boy is certainly good at glaring. Pity it's ineffective—looks, contrary to the belief of some people, can't actually kill, though Skywalker is certainly giving it a good try. So childish—he's seen many a young boy clench their jaw as Skywalker is doing, so tightly that Dooku wonders if he'll chip a tooth. Wouldn't that be amusing? A twenty-three year old injuring himself in a temper tantrum.

"How did you do this?" Skywalker whispers, hands in fists. Though his wrists are bound, he subtly strains at the cuffs, almost as if he is reaching for the lightsaber that is no longer there. "_How_?"

"Cleary, the reality that you do not have the right to demand answers from me has escaped you," Dooku replies dryly. He caps his saber as the clones press their blasters—still set on stun—into Skywalker's ribs. When he receives nothing more than a continued glower, he adds, "Come now. Where are the threats? The promises that I will pay for all the Jedi I have killed today?"

The boy snarls, lunging forward again.

For the second time, Skywalker is pulled back, and this time a warning blast is fired into the air. Skywalker at least possess the self-preservation to check himself at that, probably realizing that the next one won't be a warning and that it would be more sensible to remain in control of his senses than to face the unknown unconscious. It's likely the first good decision he's made all day.

Force, this boy is pathetic. He has no concept of what it is to think before he acts—he is all raw power and no common sense. It's enough to turn Dooku's stomach; if Skywalker cannot control the gifts he has been given, he might as well not have them at all. What a waste.

"You have no control," Dooku murmurs, stepping forward as he twirls his lightsaber easily in his fingers. It's a warning as much as anything else. Does Skywalker remember how it felt to have that blade lop off his arm? Dooku certainly hopes so.

Apparently, he does, because Skywalker jerks back when Dooku ignites the blade again, leaving it directly under the boy's chin, so close that the light of the saber illuminates Skywalker's skin, turning it red. Still, he has the pride to continue to appear defiant, and his brows crease together until that scar, courtesy of Asajj Ventress, wrinkles.

"A good warrior knows when to check his emotions and accept defeat. He knows when to regroup. You know nothing but your own power. Someday, it will fail you. In fact," he murmurs, smiling coldly, "I daresay it already has. _You _have failed."

Skywalker does not ask, but Dooku can see the question hanging in his eyes. He clearly wants to know what is meant by that, but the lightsaber at his throat is enough to make him hold his tongue. It's an improvement, at least: no demands. Perhaps the boy _can_ learn, though Dooku certainly doesn't care enough to take the time to teach him. That's Kenobi's job. Yes, Kenobi. Frankly, Skywalker's continued existence is little more than a means to control Kenobi, whom Dooku is far more interested in.

Kenobi will not, of course, think that Skywalker can be used to manipulate him. No attachments, as per the Jedi Code. Unfortunately for him, it is not true. He may justify his attempts to save Skywalker and say that he is only protecting life—even if that life is conveniently that of his former padawan—but so long as Dooku doesn't push his luck too far, he's confident that Skywalker's continued existence can be used to… _persuade_ Kenobi to cooperate with his goals. To what degree still remains to be seen.

"Have I failed if I no longer know for whom I'm fighting?" Skywalker asks quietly, his voice low and bitter. "I can't fail a cause that has disowned me."

Dooku's smirk grows wider, and he takes a brief moment to congratulate himself on the solidness of this plan. It's not flawless, but it's good enough to turn the Republic upside down. There's still much to execute, of course—both in the figurative and literal sense of the word—but he can still be pleased by the knowledge that he—one man—took down the entire Jedi Order.

Splendid.

"The clones are loyal to the Republic," he says simply. "And now I _am_ the Republic."

"That's not possible."

"Consider your circumstances. Is it possible that your own troops turned on you? That no one answered your distress call? That I am on Coruscant? The reality you knew is gone."

"What have you done?"

"I find repeating myself tedious, Skywalker. I have already informed you that you have no right to demand answers from me. In fact, you have no rights at all." The boy's demands and tantrums are growing tedious. They were entertaining at first, but now Dooku is frankly almost embarrassed on behalf of the Order who trained him, and while he certainly does not agree with the Jedi Order, he finds that Skywalker does it a greater disservice than it does itself.

There's a slight pleasure to be had in the widening of Skywalker's eyes when Dooku pushes the blade a fraction of an inch closer—just enough to singe the skin of his throat—before deactivating it completely. It's satisfying to watch him swallow hard once the blade is gone, and as he circles around Skywalker to come stand next to the medical capsule that holds Kenobi, he wonders just how far that sort of tactic will get him with Skywalker. A Jedi should be at peace with their impending death, content in the knowledge that they will join the Force, and though Skywalker seems to trample on just about all other Jedi teaching, he does not strike Dooku as a man who is particularly afraid to die. Still, there is something there that drives him. It is only a matter of time until he finds it, and when he does, he is sure it will be intensely effective. Skywalker would not be the way he is if he did not have something important driving him.

Pushing the thoughts aside for the time being, Dooku glances down into the medical capsule. As expected, the man is unconscious, having been sedated as per Dooku's orders. Also as expected, he's clearly sporting many serious injuries. Beyond the injuries themselves, he still looks a mess, with blood and dirt in his beard and his hair eschew, a state that is not improved by his torn and equally dirty clothing.

"Take Skywalker up to higher levels," Dooku tells the clones, stepping back away from Kenobi and waving his hand dismissively. "Take Kenobi to the healer's wing."

Surprisingly, Skywalker says nothing, though it's entirely clear from his expression that he loathes that decision. He isn't about to willingly trust Kenobi's wellbeing to men who tried to kill them earlier. Logically, Dooku can't blame him.

That's why it's entirely satisfying to give him no other choice.

There are many ways to break a man, he reflects idly as he strides off the platform. Physical force is most often the least effective, and he is beginning to suspect that with Skywalker, that is the case. He wants to know what drives the boy, and the more he watches, the more he is beginning to suspect that the answer lies somewhere in his attachments, a flaw that he and Kenobi share. How interesting. Like master like padawan.

Perhaps a few days without knowledge of the condition of said master will make the padawan more eager to cooperate, and, more importantly, vice versa.

Dooku leaves the platform with a small, satisfied smile on his face.

Sidious couldn't have done any better himself.

---------------

Obi-Wan knows something is out of place when he wakes to a decreased amount of pain. Everything should hurt, from his head to his broken bones. There is no reason to think otherwise, considering he and Anakin were apprehended by the clones that attempted to kill them earlier. Logically, he should not be feeling better—he should be feeling _dead_.

"Force," he mutters, leaning back into the pillow that is apparently behind his head before he ventures to open his eyes.

Once he's embraced his sense of sight, he almost wishes that he'd kept his eyes shut.

_Not possible_ his mind screams at him. It can't be. He and Anakin—they were on a transport, surrounded by clones. He shouldn't be here, in the infirmary of the Jedi Temple. There's no logic to that, and certainly no way to make sense of it.

This is all too familiar: the soft pillows, the sheets that are just a little too rough, the cream colors of the wall—everything is so normal, so routine (which is a problem in and of itself—the healer's wing should not be _routine_), and in a world where everything has changed, that seems so wrong. Nothing should be the same.

"Hello?" he calls, hoping to speak to a healer about what he's sure had to be a very bad concussion to give him such a strange dream. Only, when he tries to sit up, something cold and metallic bites into his wrists, and he suddenly knows with a terrible shattering certainty that he didn't dream. He might not have all the answers yet, but he's still woken to a reality that seems more like a nightmare.

Shifting as best he can with the binders on his wrists attaching him to the bed, he cranes his head toward the door, still hoping for a response. He may be far more accustomed to the cream colored walls of the healing ward than he'd like to admit—he's spent a lot of time here over the course of this war—but nothing else feels familiar. This situation is entirely unbalanced, and somehow before the door even opens to reveal a droid he knows that he won't be seeing any familiar healers today.

"Master Kenobi," the droid says pleasantly in a voice that is probably programmed to be soothing. It wouldn't do for medical droids to scare their patients, after all. "Are you experiencing any pain?" it asks as it glides easily to the side of his bed, which is positioned across from the door and closest to the windows, giving him a decent view of Coruscant. Speeders zip past. Buildings tower in the distance. The flow of everyday life does not appear to have been dammed. Not yet, at least.

His ribs are sore and while the bones of his arm and leg seem to be knitted back together for the most part, he's still experiencing a dull ache. Most of his cuts are healed up, but there's still the minor discomfort of the tightness caused by newly healed skin, and the bruises are certainly still an annoyance.

"No," he lies.

"One of the downfalls of droids is that they are disappointingly easy to lie to, would you agree?"

Obi-Wan startles at the noise—proof that he's not even nearly recovered yet—and snaps his head back around to the door. How could he not have sensed a presence? He should have… except that presence was clearly shielding from him.

"Dooku," he mutters, the word spoken like a curse.

Dooku appears unoffended. At the very least, instead of replying, he raises one age-spotted hand to cup his elbow before bringing the other up to do likewise as he studies Obi-Wan with an air that fairly reeks of nobility. In moments like these, the count appears more suited to a life of parties and royal courts than to battlefields and space skirmishes. If Obi-Wan didn't know first hand what a brilliant strategist and leader he is, he might not believe him fit for anything so gritty and uncivilized.

"I suggest that you allow the droid to do its job," Dooku says with an elegantly arched eyebrow. "You'll only be here longer if you refuse."

Obi-Wan responds with his own raised eyebrow. "Really, Dooku, it's common knowledge that I don't enjoy trips to the healers, but if this is the best method of torture you can devise, I think you're losing your touch."

Obi-Wan isn't entirely sure whether to be annoyed or satisfied when that comment elicits a small chuckle from the man in front of him. "Master Kenobi, if I intended to torture you, I assure you, I could do far better than this."

"How comforting." It's not, of course. He never wants to relive the time he truly did experience torture. He never wants to relive that time on Rattatak. Never. "Tell me, how is Asajj these days? Is she enjoying her time on Coruscant?" Best to bring that up before his enemy can do it first and use it as a weapon. Still, he cannot completely suppress the memories it drags up, and he expends that nervous energy by pulling at the edge of one of his blankets, feigning disinterest. "Since you're here, I'm naturally assuming that she's not far behind."

Dooku's gaze doesn't waver. "Is that the best you can do when fishing for information?" he asks rather contemptuously. "Master Kenobi, you continue to disappoint me."

"I wouldn't have to do better if you'd simply tell me how you're able to strut about the Jedi Temple in broad daylight when you're one of the most wanted men in the galaxy."

"You neglected to ask."

Would rolling his eyes be too adolescent? Probably, though that comment very much makes him wish to. Force, he's been around Anakin too long. "I'm sorry. I rather thought you'd consider it implied. Forgive me for thinking too highly of your intelligence."

Dooku doesn't answer right away. Instead, he dismisses the droid with a wave of his hand and, as it leaves, makes his way around to the side of the bed where it was a few moments before. Once there, he turns toward the windows and casually draws open the blinds, flooding the room with the fire of sunset. The dying light falls across the bed in odd patterns, and Obi-Wan follows them until his eyes almost cross; he looks away and back up at Dooku.

"I have no desire to fight with you, Obi-Wan," he says, his fingers lingering on the strings of the blinds, sliding lightly over them. "If you would simply join me—"

"I don't serve evil."

"You consider me evil, yet I raised the man who raised _you_."

"The dark side creeps in slowly, sometimes in ways we don't notice. The path to darkness is more like a sunset than a light switch. You deserted the teachings you'd trained my master to believe in, but I am not naïve enough to think that you did not at one point in your life adhere to them as strictly as those still on the path of the light do. You simply began to lose your way."

"Or find it, as I prefer to believe."

"If by finding your way you mean instigating the slaughter of millions then, yes, I suppose I stand corrected."

Sighing heavily, Dooku finally drops his hand in favor of adjusting his cloak. Even his clothing speaks of his wealth. Everything about the man does, really. He comes from money and nobility, and, even as a Jedi, he was a classic well-bred gentlemen with his old-fashioned manners and societal codes. Even his dislike of non-human species speaks of an old prejudice of human nobility.

"I will ask once more for your cooperation, Master Kenobi, and then I will resort to other… less pleasant methods to gain it. Am I clear?"

"Oh, and here I thought you had told me torture wasn't on the docket," he retorts, sounding as flippant as he can while trying not to imagine exactly what that could mean. Will it be like with Ventress? Hours upon hours of being chained up, cut, whipped, worked over in just about every way possible. And that mask—Force, he doesn't want to deal with that again. He'd prefer Dooku just kill him now.

"Not for you it isn't," Dooku replies easily. With a sweep of his hand, he pushes his cloak back off his shoulder. "Your apprentice may not be as lucky."

"And I assume you'll tell him the same thing? Either way, the outcome will be the same."

The expression on Dooku's face doesn't change, but something in his eyes seems to spark in satisfaction, and the color almost darkens. "You assume incorrectly, Master Kenobi. I have no interest in your apprentice."

That is… surprising. Anakin has more raw potential than Obi-Wan has ever seen. The common reaction of many people is a desire to mold that potential and, in cases of people not as altruistic as the Jedi, use it for their own devices. In the event that neither of those two reactions occur, it's not uncommon for an adversary to simply want to eliminate Anakin altogether. Dooku's reaction—indifference—is not one that Obi-Wan is used to dealing with.

"Then why is he here?"

"Because _you_ intrigue me."

He isn't expecting that answer either, and the fact that Dooku is consistently surprising him is not something that he likes. It's keeping him off-balance, and given his current physical position, he's already feeling vulnerable enough.

"_I_ intrigue you? I very much doubt that there's much about me that you'd find interesting."

Dooku takes a few steps toward the bed, stopping close enough that he could reach out and touch it. Obi-Wan doesn't like the proximity, but he says nothing. There's not a thing he can say that will change it, and addressing his disadvantage will only accentuate his vulnerability further.

"Obi-Wan," he begins, letting his voice drop until it sounds eerily sincere, as it did on Geonosis. He spewed lies and half-truths then, and he will do so now as well, Obi-Wan is sure. "You are my padawan's padawan. Some of my teachings were undoubtedly passed on to you. This alone is worthy of my interest."

Obi-Wan doesn't believe in his sincerity for a moment. This man is cold, calculated, and only out for whatever _he_ can gain from others. He will not believe that any interest this man has in him is born from affection toward his former apprentice—Qui-Gon—and Obi-Wan's relation to him.

"Qui-Gon Jinn, were he still alive, would take no part in what you are doing. Neither will I. I have nothing to offer you."

Mock disappointment and regret pass over Dooku's face, so like the emotions he displayed the first time Obi-Wan met him on Geonosis. He seemed so earnest then, too, dedicated to overthrowing the Sith. It was a lie then, and Obi-Wan is sure it is still is.

"And do you wish for that bad news to be delivered in the form of a lightsaber to your padawan's heart?

No, of course not. The thought alone chills him, as it always had, but he's become good at hiding it. No attachments, and situations like these are exactly why. He cannot sacrifice the lives of many people simply for Anakin. Anakin wouldn't want that, and Obi-Wan could not do it even if he did. That's selfish love.

"I will not sacrifice the lives of many just to save Anakin."

"And if it's only your own life you're sacrificing?"

Of course. He would die for Anakin without a second thought. If it is only his own life to give, then it's no question at all. It's simply that, with Dooku, he doesn't believe that will truly be the case.

"And what, exactly, did you have in mind?" he asks, thinning his lips.

It's not acquiescence, but if his small, knowing smile is any indication, Dooku seems to take it as the beginning of something along those lines. And, truly, maybe it is, because as long as he's not causing anyone else damage, Obi-Wan will do what he needs to in order to keep Anakin safe.

He'd like to say he'd do the same for any Jedi. He shouldn't regard his own life as more important than anyone else's, after all, but in dire situations, self-preservation kicks in, and while he can fight that instinct well enough to remain at a comrade's side when there is some hope left for their survival, he can't quite deny that he might remain with Anakin after all logical hope was gone. Would he do that for someone he didn't personally care about? He doesn't really want to give himself the answer.

"For now, only your cooperation. Do not be purposely difficult. If a droid wishes to know what discomfort you're still experiencing, you tell it. If I ask you a question, you answer it. Do not be evasive, and check your sarcasm." He pauses for a moment, smoothing out a nearly non-existent wrinkle in his sleeve. It's not that he's stalling for time—it's only that he's dragging the moment out, forcing Obi-Wan to wait for whatever else he has to say… and there clearly _is_ more. It's a subtle reminder of who is in charge and who is subordinate. "Additionally, you will reveal the remaining base locations for the Republic."

He should immediately refuse. There should be no deliberation. He even opens his mouth, prepared to turn away the demand, but the words seem to stick, and a sliver of doubt lodges itself in his mind. Is Anakin's life worth intelligence if they've already lost the war? _Have_ they lost the war? He can't trust Dooku's word, but the fact that he's here, on Coruscant in the Jedi Temple does seem to indicate that what he's saying is true. Doesn't it? _Doesn't_ it? There is no room for speculation in this situation: whatever decision he makes will be irreversible.

"Why?"

Dooku appears amused. "_Why? _I should think that to be obvious. I want the base locations in order to assure that they cannot be used as rebel outposts, and I want your cooperation simply because it will make thing easier and perhaps more pleasant." He pauses again, his gaze sliding over Obi-Wan searchingly. "I cared very much for your master. I doubt he would have ever forgiven me for killing the man he regarded as his son."

After Dooku condemned him to death by having him chained to a pole and attacked by several large monsters? After all the times he attempted to harm him in the Clone Wars?

"I find that difficult to accept, given your multiple attempts to kill me over the course of the last few years."

"In war, we do what is necessary. But the war is over. You are no longer a threat to me."

He looks satisfied, even to the point of smug, and it grates on Obi-Wan's nerves, because he cannot view that comment as anything other than the mild slight that he knows it is. To be informed that he is not a threat is only a reminder that he is not in control of this situation. All of this—the binders on the bed, the threats to Anakin, and the manipulative suggestions masquerading as civil words are all nothing more than reminders of everything Obi-Wan isn't able to do to fix this situation to his liking.

"And why should I believe the war is over?" he asks slowly, because if he gives over intel, he has to know that he's not betraying an active cause. As it is, the idea alone is enough to make his palms sweat, and he wipes them on the blanket in front of him, hoping Dooku hasn't noticed. Force, how can he even be considering Dooku's offer? Even if the war is over, does it matter? Does any of it matter? Or should he do what the part of him that raised a child from the age of nine wants him to? What is the right answer?"

Shifting slightly against the sheets, Obi-Wan purposely sits up a little straighter while refusing to look at the binders that are securing him to the bed. He will not give Dooku that satisfaction.

It's insulting the way Dooku is looking at him, as though he's a rebellious child with pointless questions. Dooku, for all his experience, does not have the authority to make him feel this way. Obi-Wan is a Jedi Master in his own right. He is no longer a padawan, and the fact that the man who trained him just happens to be a former student of Dooku's is irrelevant. Dooku is not Qui-Gon—Dooku does not have the right to make him feel like a youngling.

How could this man have raised Qui-Gon? Obi-Wan can't begin to understand, because this man in front of him—this cold, hard, calculating man—is nothing like the person who raised Obi-Wan. Qui-Gon might not always have been affectionate, but he was kind, and there was an unshakable sense of good in him. Like Dooku, he might not have always agreed with the Council, but he wouldn't compromise his principles as Dooku has done.

Or would he have? Perhaps that is the underlying issue of it all—the thing that disturbs Obi-Wan the most. What if Dooku had once been like Qui-Gon? He doesn't want to consider the possibility, but he can't quite dismiss it. What if the man that, for Obi-Wan, was always a symbol of safety and stability could have eventually eroded into the person before him? What then? Are his beliefs all still valid?

"You desire proof that the war is over? Will the bodies of Jedi convince you?"

Oh, yes. That certainly would, but the suggestion alone is enough to seemingly twist his lungs in his chest until it's a concentrated effort to keep his breathing steady. The air catches, and he has to swallow past the lump in his throat several times before he can even begin to process what his gut tells him is not a lie.

He does not want to see the bodies of his dead comrades, but he _has_ to know. There is no other option, and he will not be cowardly now. He's been through war. He's seen death before, and he will not allow the current circumstances to make him forsake what he knows to be his duty.

He _has _to know.

"You have their bodies?"

Carefully, Dooku reaches out and pulls a chair up next to Obi-Wan's bed. The legs scrape across the floor without leaving marks, and Obi-Wan can almost imagine that noise to be the twisting metal of his ship when the clones shot him down. The shrieks and protests of those materials as they were mutilated upon contact with the ground is a sound that will not soon leave his memory. No matter how many crashes he's been in, this one will remain imprinted in his memory in a way the others won't, simply because of what caused it.

Dooku settles himself into the chair gracefully, smoothing his cloak over to the side until it rests presentably against his leg. "Order 66 was the name of the command that caused the clones to turn on their Jedi generals. Part of this order included an attack on the Jedi temple. The clones were too numerous to allow the Jedi to mount an effective defense: the dead are still scattered along the hallways. If you require proof in that form, I will arrange to allow you a viewing."

Though his chest is so tight he can hardly breathe, Obi-Wan nods.

He has to see for himself.


	7. Chapter 6

**Disclaimer: **I own nothing.

**Feedback**: If you'd be so kind as to leave some, I'll do my best to reply.

**Notes:** ROTS AU.

sitara-asha: I agree that Anakin's emotion is preferable to the coldness of Dooku or even Yoda, but in this case, he doesn't believe the Jedi Order betrayed him. He believes the clones betrayed the Jedi Order. You're also quite right about Dooku and Obi-Wan. I'd love to see Anakin punch Dooku in the face too, I have to say.

ElNino9: I have to admit, I love the injured/protective dynamic as well.

Maddie Rose: Anakin is just the means to manipulate Obi-Wan in Dooku's eyes. Thanks for the PM, too—I'm going to do my best to answer very soon. This update interrupted that, though.

ThoseWereTheDays: No, I don't mind telling you. :) Padme will definitely make an appearance. It won't be for a little while, but when she does, she'll play a large part. I enjoy her character too much to leave her out entirely.

REV042175: Methinks you're very right. And Padme will show up eventually, at which point her whereabouts will be explained. I'm mum until then. :)

Estora: Oh, don't worry. I've had that happen too. Actually, I always copy my reviews before I click submit. Haha, sorry that I got to that idea first. It's certainly not exclusive, though—feel free to use it. If it's all in the name of good stories, you'll never see me complaining about my ideas overlapping with those of others. For all I know, you could have come up with it first.

pronker: That's a big key to Obi-Wan's state of mind. The idea that he's not betraying an active cause is a pretty big rationale for him. Poor guy is only human, after all.

* * *

The Jedi Temple is a scene of complete slaughter. By all appearances, it is an elegant battlefield with victims scattered haphazardly among the towering pillars and across the well-kept carpets. Blood stains dot the floors, scattered like a gruesome mosaic, and still fresh enough that the color is red and not the dried crusty brown that it fades to in the days following a battle. Even the scorch marks on the walls, the results of blaster shots that went wide, decry the violence that desecrated the Jedi Temple.

It is the Clone Wars finally culminating in the home of the only people who would have had a hope of ever stopping it.

Dooku stands at the end of the hallway, taking in the scene. He feels oddly detached at the sight of so many bodies. It's certainly not pleasant, but it was simply necessary, and he is a man who is strong enough to do what needs to be done. The galaxy will be better for it.

Beside him, he can hear Kenobi's harsh intake of breath, sharp, an almost unspoken accusation that hasn't yet found a voice. Dooku certainly doesn't need to look to know that he'll find horror on the other man's face. These people were his friends—the only family he'd ever known. Dooku understands. Once, he felt the same.

But sacrifices had to be made.

The Jedi served a corrupt Senate and Republic and, in some ways, they were becoming stagnant themselves. When Dooku left their ranks, he had truly believed he was doing the right thing, and he does not regret that decision. Neither does he regret the loss of life before him. It was necessary. Not pleasant or desirable, but necessary.

Taking a deep breath, Dooku attempts to ignore the beginning stench of death. He'll have the bodies cleared soon.

"Is this proof enough for you?" he asks, glancing over at the man in the hoverchair next to him. Kenobi has paled to the point where his skin is a dull cream, but beyond that, there is nothing on his face to indicate that he is not in control of himself—not yet.

That comes a moment later.

"How can you do this?" Kenobi murmurs, disgust coloring his voice. "These were your friends, just as much as they were mine. And the _younglings_…"

Interesting, Dooku thinks, digging his fingers lightly into his elbows. For Kenobi, that is as close to an outburst as is likely to occur at this point. How strange that this notion causes a small bubble of pride to bloom in Dooku's own chest, expanding slowly until it rises up to his face and morphs into a smug quirking of his lips. Kenobi is not his student, but he cannot deny the satisfaction that the man's control brings him. It's merely more proof that Sidious was incorrect in his choice of apprentice. More importantly, it's also a fine testament to Dooku's legacy. He chose well in sparing Kenobi's life. This man is too unique to cast aside.

"The Order could not be allowed to survive. It is regrettable, but necessary." Pausing, he turns his back to the bodies, shifting into Kenobi's line of sight until he's sure that he's blocked the view of the corpses. "Now, since you've been given the opportunity to ascertain the veracity of my claims, I wish for an answer: where are the base locations?"

The answer is, as he suspected, not immediately forthcoming. That's loyalty, and he respects that, almost to the point where he regrets that he will have to break it.

And he _will _break it.

Indecision swirls in Kenobi's gaze, and he clenches his jaw and grasps the arms of the hoverchair hard enough to whiten his grip. It's always the little things that give a man away. "You have access to everything in the Temple. Don't you already know?"

"As you are well aware, such information is attainable only to those on the Jedi Council. It is not as simple as gaining access to an emergency channel that is available to _all _Jedi."

There's passion in this man's demeanor. Dooku stands before him, holding a threat over a boy that he has no doubt Kenobi loves, and yet he meets the gaze focused on him with a strength few men will ever possess. It's impressive: Kenobi is a throwback to a more civilized age. Duty and honor are not just a code to him: they are his life.

"Then I'm sorry, Count, but you'll have to keep searching, because you won't gain answers from me."

It is not what Dooku expected. It was thinkable that Kenobi might protest a bit more before giving in, but this outright refusal is not planned for, and he can feel the skin around his mouth pulling as he thins his lips.

"Foolish, Master Kenobi. You have nothing to gain by withholding the information."

There is such steel in Kenobi's resolve: he holds himself tensely, every muscle coiled and ready to react to the consequences he clearly knows his adherence to duty will bring. He is entirely admirable and, as Dooku is beginning to realize, also still very exploitable. Duty will only get him so far. When that fails, where will he be?

It's only a matter of finding a way to make it fail.

Of course, there is the possibility of physically torturing Skywalker. It's what Kenobi is expecting, but both men have been trained to handle that. And Skywalker—he would endure any sort of physical torture: withstanding something of that nature could quite possibly allow him to come back stronger and more vindicated in his revulsion for Dooku. Instead, something more… subtle is needed. Skywalker's greatest sore spots are not physical; instead, as evidenced by his lack of control, they are mental. The boy is prideful. Where better to strike than the place where he has the greatest distance to fall? And when Skywalker does fall, Kenobi will be with him through every tumble, every scrape, and every skid, and that—_that _will play on _his _weakness. It will play on Kenobi's attachment.

Maybe then, he'll finally listen.

If not, then Dooku will keep pressing. It will take time, yes, but that, at least, is one thing he has. He can wait for Kenobi to break. The idea alone is enough to make something pleasant settle inside of him, easing along his nerves and promising the satisfaction that comes from future success. What a victory it will be to finally have this man taking orders from him. His grandson of sorts. His legacy. It's a somewhat strange idea of family, but the memory of Qui-Gon Jinn lingers in his mind, vaguely dredging up the notion of what it was to be something like a parent. It wasn't always pleasant, and it was seldom easy, but it was always worthwhile, and Kenobi is all that is left of that time of his life.

He will not allow this opportunity to slip away.

* * *

It's been three days. Three days of no human company, where water is delivered through a section in door, and the only bed provided is a slab of cold metal attached to the wall. Worse, with the lack of human contact, Anakin has gotten no word on Obi-Wan. The only thing he can do while he waits for an answer is to stare at the gray walls of his cell until they seem to bend inward, warping his vision to the point where he wants to clutch at the sides of his head and bash his own skull into the walls just to make the illusion stop. When he was a little boy on Tatooine, he'd sometimes gotten this feeling if he stared out toward where the sky met the dune sea: everything so far away had suddenly seemed to be bending toward him, compressing his world until he was sure that it would shrink to the point where there would soon be nothing left.

There's a reason Anakin always hated Tatooine.

The illusion of the walls finally irritates him to the point where he closes his eyes and lays back on the floor, kicking the metal barrier with the bottom of his foot. The rhythmic thumping breaks up some of the monotony, and before he really even thinks about what he's doing, he finds himself tapping out the rhythm of a song his mother sang to him when he was young and scared. Is it a manifestation of his mind's desire for comfort? Maybe. Probably. Either way, he doesn't care. It's not like there's anyone here to see him or to ask about his memories of his mother.

His mother always sang to him. She used melodies to soothe away the harsh reminders from other children that he was a slave, to comfort him after the sting of Watto's slaps, and even to chase away the nighttime fears and dreams that had often plagued him. He'd loved it, and so many times he'd fallen asleep in her lap with a sweet melody in his ear. The songs always made him feel safe.

It was different when he came to live with Obi-Wan. It took weeks before Obi-Wan would even let him sit on his lap without tensing. Now, Anakin understands that his master didn't want to get too close—not after Qui-Gon—but as a small child, he felt inadequate and, until about six months after he came to live with Obi-Wan, unwanted. He'd certainly never been comfortable enough to ask Obi-Wan to sing.

Obi-Wan only sang to him once, and that was the time which finally convinced Anakin that Obi-Wan's reservations had not so much to do with not wanting Anakin, but everything to do with Obi-Wan's fear of caring for another person like he'd cared for Qui-Gon. Anakin hadn't really understood that at the time, but while wrapped in the delirium of a severe fever brought on by an insect bite that occurred on a mission, he'd shivered and sweated until his clothes and hair were sticking to his skin and he had nothing else to seek comfort in beyond the sound of Obi-Wan's lilting voice as he explained his actions of the past six months to a boy that he didn't think was well enough to hear or understand. But Anakin did hear, and more importantly, he recalls those words. He remembers, even in the throes of a fever, feeling comforted by his master's soft murmuring; by the feeling of being rocked by strong arms, so unlike his mother's, but comforting; and then later during the night, by a quiet song that sounded as haunting as the wind whipping along the dunes of the desert. It sounded like home, and for a sick, lonely little boy, it was exactly what he'd needed.

That was the day he started loving his master, he's pretty sure, and it's stuck ever since, through all the fights and bitterness, through the lies of his marriage, and entwined throughout the friendship that developed between them when Anakin grew older. He and Obi-Wan have always been close, and after Padme, there is no person that he cares for more. The fact that there is a difference between the love he has for the man who is the closest thing he will ever have to a father and that which he has for his wife is irrelevant. It is still love. It still makes him fear loss. Most hauntingly, it pulls up the memory of his mother's face as she slipped away from life.

"_Stay with me, Mom."_

"_I llo—I—I love—"_

Anakin's eyes snap open.

Even the institutional gray of the walls is preferable to the pasty pale that his mother was in death. It is preferable to everything about his memory of her death.

Even now, he has to choke down the pain that memory brings.

Kneeling in the dim light of the tent, he recalls how her face looked cast in the glow of a cooking fire. It had been littered with cuts and bruises, and when he'd held her, she'd been so emaciated that it seemed as though she'd disintegrate in his hands. He could hardly fathom how she'd once clutched him tightly to her chest, keeping him safe from the whole world. He'd wondered about that as she'd looked up at him with glassy eyes, and he'd known right then, even if he hadn't admitted it to himself, that there was nothing he could do, but he'd tried, he'd _begged_, and she'd died anyway.

Blinking furiously, he rakes a hand through his hair and shakes his head to clear the memory. He saw it once in reality. He sees it so often in his nightmares. He doesn't need to relive it now, too.

The floor beneath him feels cold, though that might simply be his body: the memory has left him shaken, and as he digs his fingers hard into his knees, fighting for some semblance of control, he works to take deep breaths in protest against the vice grip that seems to have grabbed hold of his chest. The sound of his harsh intakes of air is enough to distract him, and it takes him a moment to realize that he's still tapping a rhythm.

It's not a random rhythm.

It's the one song Obi-Wan ever sung to him.

The moment he realizes what he's doing, Anakin flips over onto his stomach and slams a fist into the floor. A sharp bolt of discomfort shoots up his hand and wrist, but he ignores it. This is insane. He shouldn't be feeling like this, tormenting himself with things he can't change and demons from his past. Out on the battlefield, he knows what he's doing, but here in the quiet spaces, he's more at war than he ever is when facing a barrage of blaster shots. As a Jedi, he should be calm, accepting of whatever Obi-Wan's fate is. If he were the Jedi he should be, that's what he'd do, but he's _not._ He's not the Jedi he should be, and he's worried. He wants to know that his master is all right, and the fear that he's not eats at his mind like acid, leaking down to his heart and damaging every bit of control and calm that he _should_ possess. Maybe he never even had that control to begin with.

Thoughts like that tear at his mind, and he pushes past the urge to let a cry bubble up past his lips. He won't give that up. He'll control himself. He's Anakin Skywalker, the Chosen One. How can he save everyone else if he can't even save himself? It's an absurd thought. He has a duty, and he won't give into this thing that's pulling him down.

For how long he can keep that promise, he's not sure. The silence is just so loud.

And, then, it's not.

A quick hiss of air startles him out of his revere of self-pity, and he glances up. That's not silence. That's _something_. At this point, anything is welcome, and he's never been so thankful to see an enemy as a moment later when the door shoots open in a rush of air that smoothes over his face and down his arms. The air is processed and stale, but after three days in a confined room, any new air at all is welcome.

More importantly, with the coming of noise, he finds that he's not so cold anymore.

Immediately, he sits up back against the wall, pushing his hair out of his eyes and suspiciously eyeing the six clones who enter. He's poised to make a smart comment, hopefully as biting and angry as he feels, but he stops at the last moment, the words morphing into something else, something happier, and he shoves himself to his feet, trying not to show the relief he's feeling.

"Obi-Wan!"

At least Obi-Wan is walking, and while his steps aren't as firm and sure as Anakin would like, it's a relief just to see him on his feet. His skin is slightly pale, but his eyes are bright, and though the fact that his beard hasn't been trimmed makes him look a bit haggard, nothing seems to be seriously wrong. He's healed well.

"Master!"

Obi-Wan meets his eyes, and that is when Anakin realizes that he was wrong. Dead wrong. Obi-Wan's eyes _are_ bright, but it's not the brightness of health—it's a look of pain and stress, still controlled, but present nonetheless. Something is very wrong.

"Are you all right, Anakin?" he asks quietly.

He wants to demand more answers from Obi-Wan, but something in his master's face stops him, and instead he just nods. Why isn't his master saying more? Or, more importantly, why does he seem so tired, as if his whole world has just collapsed? He's only ever seen Obi-Wan like this after losses—_bad_ losses—and he immediately wants answers.

"And, Master Kenobi, if you so choose, he can remain that way."

Obi-Wan stiffens nearly unperceivably, but Anakin notices, and he bristles angrily as Dooku steps in through the door. Everything about the man reeks of arrogance. Many times Anakin has been accused of that himself, but Dooku's brand of that particular quality is entirely different. It's not just a faith in his own skills—though he clearly possess that—but something almost aristocratic, as though the rest of the world ought to serve him simply because of his place in existence, which he held from birth. All the good manners and civilized talk in the world—which Dooku is a master at—can't disguise an attitude like that.

That's especially true when the person before him is Anakin, whose own arrogance was partially born out of the desire to insure that he would never be viewed as an inferior being again.

Anakin has amazing gifts. He knows it. He wants others to know it too, because never again does he want to be seen as worthless. He isn't a slave—not anymore—and he craves the recognition of just how good he is, because that will prove just how incapable he is _not_.

That is his arrogance.

It is not the same kind as Dooku's.

Obi-Wan's hand on his arm prompts Anakin to take a step back, falling in beside his former master. Even in his clearly less-than-healthy condition, Obi-Wan's grip is firm and offers no room for argument.

"I won't give you the base locations," Obi-Wan says, a strong current of stubbornness running through his voice.

Dooku's upper lip curls in a sneer. "I'll kill him."

Anakin hardly feels anything. He should. Maybe once that promise sinks in he will, but right now all he can feel is his absolute disdain for the man before him. Dooku is a monster hiding behind impeccable manners and gentility. That front is how he got others to follow him—_how_ he started this war—but the darkness hiding behind the front is more important—it is _why _he started the war.

Obi-Wan's fingers flex against Anakin's arm.

"It's your decision, Master Kenobi. Is your padawan's life worth the locations of bases for a cause that no longer exists?"

A slight tremor shakes Obi-Wan's hand, running into Anakin's own arm… or possibly it's the other way around and coming from Anakin instead. Maybe that's why Obi-Wan is glancing over at him, his gaze running up and down Anakin's body as if he's picturing just how he'll look on a funeral pyre—if Dooku even allows that honor. He probably wouldn't, not that it would make a difference, really. Death is death, and the idea of Anakin's is probably what accounts for the haunted, almost displaced look in Obi-Wan's eyes. It's possible that he even felt the tremor that Anakin has to admit probably came from himself and not from Obi-Wan. Stupid. He shouldn't be reacting like that. Both of them know what decision Obi-Wan _should_ make, and Anakin's emotions will not help him to do what duty requires.

"You've seen the proof yourself," Dooku continues. "The cause you fought for no longer exists."

"It's not dead _yet_," Obi-Wan murmurs. "It won't be, as long as there are people willing to fight for it."

Dooku crosses his arms and taps a finger impatiently against his elbow. "Let me rephrase, then: the cause you fought for has become ineffective. Do you want to sacrifice your padawan for something that can no longer bring about change?"

There is no good answer for that. Anakin can see that truth on Obi-Wan's face, in the creases of his forehead and the sweat beading on his brow. It's not good for him to stand like this—not after how injured he was—Anakin thinks, though the thought is hazy, almost surreal. Anakin is possibly going to die very soon, but his mind lingers on Obi-Wan's condition in what he has to admit is quite likely an escape from his own anxieties. Focus on someone else so you won't have to focus on your own fear or pain. It's a very plausible avoidance tactic, and one that at least benefits others.

Frankly, it's probably a trait he picked up from Obi-Wan.

"Your time to decide has run out, Master Kenobi," Dooku announces coldly. There is no pity in his gaze, not even when he draws his lightsaber in an elegant flourish. At the movement, the clones spread around them in a circle and raise their blasters, training them on Anakin.

"I know you're getting old, Dooku," he snaps, not caring that it's in direct contradiction of good sense, "but your eyesight can't have possibly deteriorated to the point where you aren't able to see that if you fire on _me_, you're going to kill _him _too," he points out, jerking his head in Obi-Wan's direction.

Beyond the obvious distaste that Dooku regards him with, he seems unmoved. Why shouldn't he be? To this man, lives are as expendable as pieces on a game board. "And I know that you have no common sense, Skywalker, but surely _you_ must have noticed that neither of you are in the position to prevent any series of events that I deem necessary." He gives a calm nod in the direction of one of the clones. "Remove Kenobi."

For Anakin, it's complete instinct to press back-to-back, guarding where Obi-Wan is most vulnerable. It's a seamless move that's almost second nature to both him and Obi-Wan, though in most situations, they aren't so completely unarmed. Here, they have no lightsabers—no weapons beyond the Force—and Anakin is aware that Obi-Wan knows just as well as he does that this fight will be over before it starts. That won't stop them from trying. They have never meekly accepted defeat.

Oddly, the shot, when it comes, is at Obi-Wan. It catches them both by surprise. It should have been at Anakin. He's the one Dooku wants to harm. That would have been the logical, obvious move.

That, Anakin knows, is exactly why Dooku ordered the opposite.

The shot catches Obi-Wan in the thigh, and while it was clearly with the intention to maim, not kill, the way he buckles, grunting in pain, is a vivid demonstration of how effective it still is. Dooku doesn't need to kill Obi-Wan—he clearly doesn't even want to. All he needs is exactly what he's just gotten: Obi-Wan out of the way and unable to interfere.

Anakin catches Obi-Wan as he begins to fall, helping him down to rest on the ground. His breathing is heavy, one hand pressed over the wound, but the set of his jaw is hard, and Anakin knows he's fighting against letting any weakness seep through. He'll be strong right up until the culmination—until Anakin's end… and it _will_ be Anakin's end. There are still blasters trained on them, and staring into the barrel, Anakin just knows that he is looking his death in the face. Obi-Wan won't tell the locations—he won't ever betray the Republic. Anakin doesn't want him to. His life is not worth those of so many others.

He feels the heat at his neck almost before he hears the hum of a lightsaber. He should feel it slicing through him. Will it hurt? Will it take long? What will end first? Will his disembodied head still feel pain? Will his brain shut down as soon as it's severed from his body? What about his body? Will that still feel pain?

Why is he even able to still think about any of that?

He's still alive. That rush of beautiful realization surges through him, weakening every bit of him and leaving an unpleasant tingling in his extremities. Well, not entirely unpleasant. It means he's _alive_.

Using sheer force of will to pry open the eyes he hadn't realized he'd closed, he accepts the rush of light he shouldn't be seeing. He probably shouldn't have closed his eyes at all—enough time for that when he's dead—but no one wants to see their death. Who could truly blame him for being like everyone else in that respect? Though, if that was the course of action he wanted, he probably should have kept his eyes shut, because opening them to see the look of absolute pain on Obi-Wan's face is not something he wants imprinted in his mind. Obi-Wan is always strong, and Anakin needs him to be now.

And then Obi-Wan opens his mouth.

"Don't—" Anakin chokes out, flinching when the lightsaber moves a fraction of an inch closer. He can feel the heat. It's blistering the skin of his throat, though he hardly notices. All he can concentrate on is the way Obi-Wan is staring at Dooku with indecision in his eyes.

He can't let Obi-Wan do what he knows he's about to. Maybe if he just leaned into the lightsaber? Yes. _Yes_. He doesn't _want_ to kill himself, but he has a duty to the Republic, and he knows, even if Obi-Wan will never admit it, that he is the only one in the galaxy Obi-Wan would do this for. It's his fault Obi-Wan has attachment in the first place. That makes this his responsibility.

So, he will do what he must.

Or, rather, he tries.

When he makes the attempt, he's pulled up short by the hand that shoves into his hair, yanking him up on his knees. His scalp burns, like fire, but with so much pressure. He's had worse, but it still hurts, and Force, he really hates Dooku…

Anakin twists, but he's held tight, so taunt that he can hardly draw a breath. "I think not, Skywalker," Dooku comments dryly, completely unimpressed. "Self-sacrifice doesn't become you. That is Kenobi's role, I'm afraid."

Obi-Wan blinks, still resistant, but so, so conflicted. Anakin can hear it in his voice when he speaks. "You won't go through with it." He doesn't tremble or stutter, but he knows his master when he's acting, and he's doing it now.

Anakin hardly dares to breathe. There's a blade a fraction of an inch from his throat, and Dooku won't let him die of his own volition, he knows. _Trying _to breathe into the blade is only going to get him a very painful and pointless injury.

Dooku has him cornered, and he knows it.

Both him and Obi-Wan know it.

"Really, Kenobi, you make a poor master if this is what you allow to happen to your student."

"It is my duty as a master and a Jedi to put others before my own personal attachments," Obi-Wan replies through gritted teeth. "One life is not worth hundreds."

Dooku pulls back a little harder, until Anakin hisses in pain. He hates himself for making any noise, but the tension of waiting for a final decision seems to forcibly press the air up into his throat until all it takes to draw it out is the pain. "Your duty as a master?" he asks, his tone smothered in condescension. "Very well, allow me to rephrase: you make a poor father if this is what you allow to happen to the child you raised."

Obi-Wan's exhales harshly, and, for a moment, Anakin has to wonder if he'll even take another breath. It seems to be an effort for Obi-Wan, as though someone has punched him hard in the gut.

Some part of Anakin is surprised the words reached his master so deeply, but even with a blade at his throat, he craves hearing that confession, even if it comes only in the form of a small breath. He's always wanted that admission.

"I am not—"

"You are. You only lie to yourself if you deny it."

"It doesn't change anything."

A pause.

Anakin waits.

Then, "Very well." His tone is almost regretful, though probably more for the fact that he'll lose his leverage over Obi-Wan than that Anakin will lose his life.

He doesn't seem to care about the later consequence in the slightest.

Dooku isn't quick about delivering death. He works the blade in slowly, letting it sizzle against the skin, slowly burning the layers away. Anakin can smell his own skin immolating. It's nauseating, and the smell, more than the feel, starts his stomach rolling. He won't have time to throw up. He'll be dead before then. Won't he? Or will Dooku really draw this out so far? Oh, Force, it hurts, it hurts, it _hurts_…

He's crying out. He can't hear himself—his mind is blacking out—but he can feel it in his throat. Or maybe he can hear himself. Someone is yelling. Someone. Just someone.

And then the heat is gone, and something strikes his head.

Metal is cold. The floor is cold. Everything is cold, and the heat at his neck is gone, and he's never been so happy to feel so _cold_.

"If I tell you, you'll let him go."

It's not a question. It's a demand.

Surprisingly, Dooku addresses it.

"If I like your information."

"That's subjective."

"I'm a man of my word, and I promise you that if your information is good, he'll walk out of this cell."

Anakin's eyelids flutter open, but everything is still too hazy for him to raise his head from the floor. Right now, that doesn't matter so much. He knows Obi-Wan is bargaining, just as he knows that while he may be known as the "negotiator," there's nothing to negotiate in this situation. It's all a power play for Dooku, and no one, not even Obi-Wan, is skilled enough to change that.

"Don'… tell 'im," Anakin mutters, cheek still pressed to the floor. The world is tilting so fast. He can't hold himself, no matter how hard he tries—and he _is _trying. He fights for breath as he flexes his fingers against the metal under him, trying so hard to gain a hold on the spinning world around him.

A hand closes around his own.

"Well, Master Kenobi?"

"I'll give you one location. A good one."

"One location? That's hardly enough to tempt me to let such a dangerous prisoner go."

What's that against his palm? What's Obi-Wan doing? Consciousness is still half evading him, but he needs it now, because if Obi-Wan is taking the time to do this, it's important.

"I'll give you one with a database that has coded information on parts of our most important intel. Numbers, figures, strategies…"

Obi-Wan's fingers brush over the underside of Anakin's palm again. He's going slowly now, but the touch is very deliberate and too precise for Anakin to discount it as a nervous twitch. Obi-Wan doesn't do that, anyhow.

But Obi-Wan _does_ think under pressure.

His breath catches in his chest in realization. That—Obi-Wan's calm under pressure—is the hint he needs. He knows what Obi-Wan would logically do in this situation. That's where knowledge of his teammate makes everything so much easier.

It may have saved them here.

What Obi-Wan's doing—it's a coded sign. He and Obi-Wan developed them toward the onset of the war, numbers one through ten and the letters of the alphabet, that could be communicated by signs both physical and verbal. The trick of it is that it's a code all their own, and whether it be in meetings or when facing the enemy, it's quite convenient to be able to speak confidentially while in public. That's never been more beneficial than now.

Taking a deep breath, Anakin touches back, letting Obi-Wan know he recognizes what he's doing… and gets another number.

"And if your information fails to check out?" Dooku asks.

Obi-Wan pauses, and then starts tracing a pattern again. "I guess you'll just have to trust that I'm a man of my word, just as much as you are."

A final tap. He's done. Whatever the numbers represent, Anakin is sure it's vital. But what _do _they represent, exactly? C'mon, Obi-Wan, he thinks a little desperately, just a little more…

Irritation is again blooming on Dooku's face, almost visibly etching the lines of his wrinkles more deeply into his skin. "Perhaps you could simply give me the clearance code for the information."

"I'm sorry," Obi-Wan replies, sharp and hard, "but I only give that to people I trust."

That's all it takes. Anakin knows. He knows what Obi-Wan has just given him.

He's just been given access to all the Republic's base locations.

This is the information he wouldn't have gotten until he was a master and on the council. Only those privileged few have it, but Obi-Wan has given it to him, clearly with the intention of letting him use it when he gets free. He'll have to find an escape, insert the code into the database, find out where the locations were, and clear them of information. It's clearly what Obi-Wan intends, and it's a good plan—a solid plan—and the only way that is going to stop Dooku from eventually getting that information, because Obi-Wan is only buying time by not telling. Dooku _will_ find out. If he has this much control, he'll find what he needs, even if it takes years.

"That's my final offer," Obi-Wan murmurs.

Dooku is silent, giving no answer for such an extended period of time that Anakin is almost certain he'll say no. Why wouldn't he? It's not a good trade—not for him, and certainly not when he's got such leverage over Obi-Wan.

"All right."

What? That's enough to give Anakin the energy he needs to roll his head to the side, just so he can have some clue as to what Dooku could possibly be thinking.

He gets his clues, though not from Dooku, and not in the way he thought he would.

Obi-Wan is on the ground, staring up at Dooku from under a mess of hair that's fallen into his eyes. He's clutching his new wound, but his face is hard and set, as stalwart as Anakin has ever seen it. Dooku may be agreeing based on that glimpse alone. Anakin might have. He knows Obi-Wan well enough to know that expression brokers no argument and no compromise. If Dooku chooses to refuse now, his only choice will be to kill Anakin… and that's the downfall of blackmail. Once it's been used, it becomes useless.

If he kills Anakin, he loses his hold over Obi-Wan.

"If you keep your word, Master Kenobi, I'll keep mine," Dooku replies finally, putting his lightsaber back onto his belt and tucking his arms under his cape. He may not have obtained the deal he wanted, but there's still satisfaction in his eyes, so like that of a man who knows he's won.

Anakin would like Obi-Wan to say something else—something more insulting. He wants him to say anything to wipe that victorious look off Dooku's face and to remind him that he didn't get what he wanted, or at least not completely. But Obi-Wan doesn't. He doesn't push his luck like Anakin would have. He doesn't try Dooku further.

Obi-Wan just nods.


	8. Chapter 7

**Disclaimer: **I own nothing.

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**Notes:** ROTS AU.

I have a new Star Wars video uploaded on YouTube. It's called "Move Along—Anakin and Obi-Wan" if any of you are interested in looking it up.

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Nat2: Thanks! I'm very glad you're enjoying it, and I'm sorry the updates are bit slow in coming.

Pronker: I always wondered if Anakin compared his mother and Obi-Wan in his mind, and if so, how. I think he had to, since he admitted on a couple of occasions that Obi-Wan was like his father. As you've probably figured out, it's a concept that interests me.

aayla1138: Thanks! I'm glad Anakin's near-death was convincing. He'll have a couple more brushes with it before the end of this story, too.

truthfullies66: Intersting thoughts on whether or not Obi-Wan and Anakin will fall. I won't give away what's going to happen, other to say that you're headed in the right direction.

ThoseWereTheDays: I'm very sad they removed that Episode III scene, too! I liked the idea of them having to make those up: I always pictured them sitting in some tent on a battlefield late at night talking about what signs meant what. Padme will have bigger things to worry about than a scar, though—Anakin isn't done putting himself in jeopardy quite yet.

SpiritedEstel: Thanks! I think Anakin is a very multi-dimensional character with a lot of issues, but who is really, when it counts, a good person. I think a lot of times stuff like his background as a slave and the fact that he held his mother while she died get overlooked, which to me seems like things that really need to be taken into account, since they would definitely influence him heavily.

Estora: Oh, don't worry. I've had that happen too. Actually, I always copy my reviews before I click submit. Haha, sorry that I got to that idea first. It's certainly not exclusive, though—feel free to use it. If it's all in the name of good stories, you'll never see me complaining about my ideas overlapping with those of others. For all I know, you could have come up with it first.

Anakinpadmekenobi: Very true. Attachments are fundamental in both of them.

Dhrachth: Thank you so much for catching that! I really appreciate it. I'll get that edited.

ObiBettina7: Yes, Dooku certainly does know what he's doing. Obi-Wan has, unfortunately, underestimated him.

pronker: That's a big key to Obi-Wan's state of mind. The idea that he's not betraying an active cause is a pretty big rationale for him. Poor guy is only human, after all.

* * *

Obi-Wan does not enjoy acquiescing to Dooku's demands. When the location to the base trips off his tongue, every syllable seems to scald his lips until they feel as though they should be burned and blistered. It's not betrayal, but it does mark just how close Dooku pushed him to it. It's a burning reminder of the control this man now holds.

_Former_ base or not, the location Obi-Wan just gave him is still a symbol of just how little power he now has.

Dooku doesn't radiate satisfaction to the degree Obi-Wan had thought he would. The skin of his cheeks pulls slightly in a hint of a smirk, but he doesn't gloat. Instead, he only nods, confirms that, looking at it in retrospect, the location Obi-Wan gave him clearly fits with wartime evidence of where a base should be—Obi-Wan wasn't worried on that count, considering it truly _had _been a base—and then orders the clone troopers to remove Anakin from the cell.

Moments later, Obi-Wan is left alone with Dooku.

"You know, Master Kenobi," he says almost conversationally once the door closes and Anakin is gone, "I do not appreciate being lied to."

And he does not. That much is clear in his expression—in the nearly imperceptible displeasure written in the tense line of his body. More importantly, it is clear that he knows that Obi-Wan _did_ lie.

Once, on a mission with Qui-Gon, Obi-Wan fell headlong into a river. Normally, it wouldn't have been detrimental—he was never averse to getting wet. Jedi are trained for uncomfortable situations. What they can't be trained to survive is the hypothermia that comes from falling into a river on a world where the temperature hovers around freezing. It's cold enough to kill, but not cold enough to freeze the water completely.

One misstep—a slip on an icy bank—had sent him careening down into the water. He still remembers how he felt when he smashed into the river. It stole his breath, and for a few moments he was sure a thousands knives were stabbing him from every direction. All he could feel was cold, and he was so certain that his blood was congealing and freezing. He would sink, and when they found him, he'd be as frozen as the ground he'd wished he were still walking on.

He's getting a similar feeling now. Every bit of circulation seems to stop, and he can almost swear his heart has ceased pumping blood. Dooku can't know he lied. Not yet, because if he does, then Dooku certainly won't be letting Anakin go.

And that leaves only one conceivable option.

"ANAKIN!"

It's not panic. Even now, he keeps his wits, but if there's any chance—any at all—that Anakin can still hear him beyond the doors, he has to try for that alone.

"ANAKIN!"

Dooku tilts his chin back and cracks his neck lightly, feigning boredom. "He will be unable to hear, I assure you." The way he looks at the door—it's so disinterested. Clearly, this was never really about Anakin. "Now, then, perhaps we can honestly discuss things?" he says, disguising his order as a polite question.

How disgustingly civil of him.

They won't politely discuss anything. There's nothing to discuss. Dooku is a murderer and quite possibly the most manipulative man Obi-Wan has ever met. A discussion with him will only lead to madness and evil, and that's not worth exploring in this moment—Obi-Wan would question whether it _ever _is. He'd question many things about dealing with Dooku, but right now all he knows is that Anakin is walking into immediate danger, and the man in front of him has orchestrated that.

Sheer desperation isn't a pleasant thing. It numbs his mind, pushes him to his baser instincts, and it's a fight to force that panic back. He can't allow that lack of control right now. Unchecked emotion won't help either him or Anakin, and he will not give Dooku the satisfaction of destroying the Jedi discipline Obi-Wan has worked so hard to build.

"Don't pretend to ask," he replies quietly, keeping his voice calm and even. Nothing more. He will face this man like he did before on Geonosis, and this time, he won't fail.

Dooku merely nods. "All right. Then allow me to begin what I suspect will be a rather unpleasant revelation for you: I am fully aware that the location you just gave me is likely not a real base. A good cover, I'll admit—it fits. But you, Master Kenobi, would not give such information unless you'd exhausted every last option. I do admire that, you know."

"Yes, thank you" he replies, ignoring the pain of his wound long enough to raise the top hand he's using to apply pressure in a small wave of feigned agreement. "Your admiration means _so_ much to me, Dooku." It's a good line, though the sarcasm of it is rather ruined by the wince he knows he displays when his leg gives a particularly vicious throb. How lovely that he's got _another_ wound… as though he didn't already have enough from the crash.

Dooku catches the gesture. "Let me have a look at it," he says with a small sigh. His tone is so close to frustration, though Obi-Wan can't quite imagine why, especially since Dooku is wearing the same look Qui-Gon often wore when Obi-Wan failed to grasp a lesson or otherwise inadvertently displeased him.

"I'd prefer not."

Not surprisingly, Dooku pays him no heed: he drops to one knee next to Obi-Wan, taking in the state of his injury. For the moment, the shock is enough to still Obi-Wan. Dooku shouldn't care enough to be doing this. Medics could just as easily be called. There's no reason for a famed Sith to be caring for a prisoner. There is no logic to this. Obi-Wan needs time to think.

He doesn't have it.

All he has now is the situation—he can analyze motives later. For now, he needs to act.

Because this? _This_ is the chance Obi-Wan has wanted.

Over the course of Obi-Wan's apprenticeship, Qui-Gon taught him many things, some conventional, some not. One of the skills that was not—one that might seem entirely wrong for an upstanding Jedi—was that of pick pocketing. Obi-Wan knows how to remove an item from someone's person, and he knows how to do it quickly, smoothly, and without detection. It comes in handy when he needs to find out an identity and doesn't want to ask, or when he knows an enemy has a dangerous weapon that he'd rather remove without making his presence known.

In this case, his presence is already known, which will lower the success rate of any attempt he makes, but a quick move could still gain him Dooku's lightsaber, which would give him the upper hand—

He darts his hand foreword, his fingers brushing metal… but never closing.

Rather, something slams into his face, smashing into his cheek so hard that his head snaps back with a sickening crack. The blow is like fire in the pores of his face. It's tolerable—he's had far worse—but it still isn't pleasant and, more importantly, it's a clear notice that he's failed.

Oddly, when Obi-Wan looks back up, there is no trace of rage on Dooku's face. He looks collected—as regal and controlled as ever—almost as though he believes smacking someone across the face would be acceptable behavior at the balls and dinner parties that his aristocratic mannerisms indicate he should be attending.

"You disappoint me," Dooku informs him with a small sigh. "You see, Obi-Wan, you have benefitted from many of the unconventional tactics that your master taught you. However, they work as well as they do because so few people expect them. But, truly," he says, almost with pity, "you should know that such tactics won't work when you attempt to practice them on the man who taught them to the one who taught _you_."

Right. Well, that's logical. Frankly, it makes so much sense that he'd like to save Dooku the trouble and just hit himself for his own stupidity. After all, Dooku is old—such a vicious extension of the arm can't be good for his bones. Obi-Wan might as well do it for him if he's going to set himself up so obviously anyway.

"Now, shall we try this again, perhaps in a more civilized manner?" Dooku asks with a slightly raised eyebrow.

"Oh, yes," Obi-Wan replies, resisting the urge to lightly touch what he knows is going to be a new bruise on his face. "After all, it would be a real shame if I was too damaged to attend my own padawan's funeral."

Dooku glances up at him, his face unreadable. Or, perhaps not—there's some sort of satisfaction lingering there. "You say that as though you don't care."

"Of course I care." He cares too much, and the excess vehemence in those words shows it. "But I am a Jedi—"

"Yes," Dooku agrees, pushing Obi-Wan's hands away as he leans over to inspect the wound. Briefly, Obi-Wan entertains the option of reaching for the lightsaber again, or even physically assaulting Dooku, but he dismisses the notion. He's injured. He'll fail. There's no sense making his situation worse than it already is. "But in this one respect, you're a poor one… and that should be commended, not condemned."

Once, when he was still an initiate, Obi-Wan might have rolled his eyes. "Oh, yes, subpar performance should _always _be praised."

How interesting that Dooku seems almost entertained by his sarcasm, especially given that he'd told Obi-Wan previously to make an effort to suppress that particular part of his personality. He'll have to note that apparently Dooku doesn't mean everything that he says—that bit of information could be useful later.

"That sarcasm is not a trait you learned from your master. You're very unlike him in that respect: he was always far more blunt."

"I enjoy things that require more thought," Obi-Wan counters, trying his best to ignore the beginnings of pain that he feels when Dooku lightly touches at the wound, assessing the seriousness of it. How absurd that he's sitting here on a cold floor, leg stretched out in front of him as the very person who gave him the wound in the first place begins preparation to fix it.

"Yes, from what I've seen and what Qui-Gon told me, you were always far more fond of the Unifying Force than you were of the Living. You preferred to search further, instead of concentrating on what was right in front of you. Another difference."

"Qui-Gon and I weren't all that much alike."

There's no reason why he should be telling Dooku this. It's not his right to know, but some part of Obi-Wan urges him to keep talking, to try to play on any shred of a connection they might have. Surely capitalizing on their mutual affection for a long-dead man can't hurt? It makes perfect sense to use the means given to him in order to try to transfer any leniency Dooku might have given Qui-Gon to himself instead. Right now, it's about all he can think to do to help Anakin, and for that he will swallow his pride and speak civilly.

"And," he continues, darting a quick look up toward Dooku's face, "from what _I've_ seen and heard, you weren't, either."

Dooku's hands pause over the wound, though only momentarily. A moment later, they're delving into his pocket and removing a bacta patch, which he unwraps with a dexterity far greater than a man his age should possess. "You heard correctly. We did have one large similarity, however: we both possessed a propensity to question the methodology around us."

"You mean to question the decisions of the Jedi."

Dooku makes a sound that is a little throatier than a low chuckle. "If you like."

Like? Oh, no, he doesn't _like_, just as he doesn't like letting Dooku tear the hole in his leggings a little more until he can press the bacta patch over the wound. His touch is gentle, and Obi-Wan can't help letting his gaze skitter back down, watching those hands smooth the healing patch onto his leg. He wouldn't have expected healing to be one of Dooku's skills. If he had to guess, he would have assumed that his touch would be harsh and rough, jarring the wound, but it's almost the opposite: his hands, which though they are beginning to spot with age, are elegant and steady; he's careful, and he causes no unnecessary pain.

"Though I very much doubt you want to hear this, Master Kenobi, the truth is that you and I are far more alike than Qui-Gon and I ever were."

Why, yes, Obi-Wan is certainly inclined toward the mass-murder of millions. He dabbles in the dark side occasionally, as well. And employing Dark Jedi minions? It's one of his favorite pastimes.

No, he and Dooku couldn't be more different. They are _nothing _alike.

This time, Dooku's chuckle is undeniable, and Obi-Wan is certain he can see a smile lurking behind his beard. There's no warmth in the expression, and certainly no comfort, because Obi-Wan has seen him smile like that at the very moment he's about to win a fight and end a life. "An affinity for the Unifying Force? Mannerisms of gentility that speak of a more civilized and formal bent? A desire to succeed? A bent toward negotiation? An attachment to the children we raised? Obi-Wan, I think you delude yourself."

He doesn't. Dooku is the one who deludes himself in thinking that they could ever be alike where it counts. Outward superficial similarities are one thing, but when it comes to morals and core beliefs, they couldn't be more different.

He wants Dooku to know that. It shouldn't matter—he shouldn't feel this need to validate himself and deny Dooku's accusations, but he _does_. That feeling—it's a craving he can't quite let go of, and the irritation burns up through him until he gives in and narrows his eyes, laying his palms against his thighs and clenching his fingers in against his legs. Control. He has to keep control.

A small exhale steals it way past his lips—thank the Force that no venomous words spill out with it. "It's Master Kenobi," he says instead, so quietly that he's certain Dooku has to strain to catch it.

The mercurial shift in Dooku is disconcerting. Displeasure springs up in him, yes, but it's something beyond that—something colder. He'd been trying for familiarity, and while the reasons are quite beyond Obi-Wan at the moment, he's aware that his rebuff of that familiarity sparked this change. That's fine… only, it's not, because Anakin's continued existence depends on Dooku's word.

And right now Obi-Wan is staring into the face of the man who ordered their execution on Geonosis.

"If that is what you desire."

"What I desire, _Dooku_, is to have Anakin set free and for the galaxy to be returned to a state where democracy reigns."

His words at least cause some movement: Dooku gets gracefully to his feet, though the look on his face, as though he's smelling some particularly distasteful, ruins the fluid effect. "Your fear for Skywalker's life, while touching—and also entirely against Jedi ideals—is unwarranted. I do not intend to kill him."

"Splendid… but you'll have to forgive my skepticism."

"Is it so inconceivable that I have other uses for Skywalker?"

"Such as?"

"Such as leading me directly to the information you undoubtedly somehow gave him."

What?

He can't know. He can't. That's… not possible.

But it is. Obi-Wan knows it is, because it's the truth, and that's undeniable.

That knowledge is like a punch to the gut, and he visibly jerks back, the room spinning. _Oh, Anakin,_ he thinks, _I'm sorry_. He should have known. Dooku is smart, has the benefit of years of experience, and clearly is playing upon the way Obi-Wan thinks—playing on his trust and faith in his former apprentice.

Worst of all, he's _succeeding_.

"I didn't give him any information," Obi-Wan breathes, placing a hand on either side of his legs and forcing himself up. The wound on his leg burns as though someone has pushed a hot iron into it, but he successfully clambers to his knees. It hurts, very much, but he's got to get up, got to—

"You lie," Dooku says disinterestedly, as though the dishonesty bores him. It shouldn't. It's more or less what his entire life has become.

But, yes, Obi-Wan does lie, and he'll keep at it. Dooku can't win this. Obi-Wan won't let him, no matter how much pain is building in his leg, or how the sweat is beading on his forehead from the exertion of trying to move with a deep blaster wound. It's only physical. He's a Jedi. He can push beyond that.

But, as his body tells him a moment later when he tries to rise, he can only push so far.

With a harsh gasp of pain, he sinks back down to his knees, and then back to the floor. The wound shouldn't be so bad. He's been shot before. Why can't he move beyond it now?

Dooku seems to anticipate the question, "The shot hit a muscle. You'll need time in a bacta tank before you can walk again. I wouldn't advise trying anything before that."

He can't. He's back down on the ground, on his hands and knees, and the only thing he can do is glance up at Dooku from under his sweaty bangs and curse his inability to do anything more. "What are you going to do to him?"

He needs to know… because he can't stop Dooku from doing it.

"Not kill him, if that's what you're asking. But, _Master Kenobi_, your padawan has a very long way to fall. Pride will do that: the higher up you are, the more the landing hurts."

That's true, and Anakin… he has pride. Obi-Wan knows that, but there's so much more to Anakin than that—so much potential. All that can't be wasted, and the idea alone makes his fingers curl, pressing into the floor until he feels the skin under his nails tearing from the pressure.

"I want to see him."

"You'll get him back, and relatively in one piece. But, for now, you'll have to wait."

What can he possibly say to that? No? It's not as though he's in the position to argue. Instead, he settles for the only thing he's got left: an essentially powerless refutation. "You may think you've won this, Dooku, but every plan has a weakness."

"Oh? And should I surmise that you intend to find it?"

"Count on it."

He merely nods. "I'll look forward to it. After all, what is a victory if you don't defeat a worthy opponent?" He stares for a moment longer, his gaze lingering and searching, but Obi-Wan holds it, refusing to look away. "Don't bother to fight the clones that come for you later. We both know you need the medical care. Denying that will gain you nothing."

Dooku has always had a flair for the dramatic, but the way he turns on his heal, swirling his cape around his ankles like a miniature maelstrom is entirely superfluous, and Obi-Wan would smirk if his mind wasn't so preoccupied with thoughts of his former padawan's welfare. Flashy gestures have never impressed him. _Dooku _has never impressed him.

Upon Dooku's exit, the metal door slides shut with a startling finality: the noise echoes around the room, ringing in Obi-Wan ears from all directions. It's not pleasant, but nothing about this situation is, and for the time being there's nothing he can do about it.

Sighing, he leans back against the wall and closes his eyes.

Darkness is more pleasant than the way the walls almost seem to close in on him.


	9. Chapter 8

**Disclaimer: **I own nothing.

**Feedback**: If you'd be so kind as to leave some, I'll do my best to reply.

**Notes:** ROTS AU.

xXJedi Knight BlazeXx: Yes, Dooku is pretty deplorable, isn't he? And I'll do my best to check your story, but no promises—it's finals time here at college, and I'm a little stressed.

SpiritedEstel: You're right—Obi-Wan isn't used to being outsmarted. That's usually his advantage. Dooku's pretty clever, too, though.

Estora: You're quite right when you say Dooku is something like what Obi-Wan has the potential to be. I won't say one way or the other, though, whether that will ever come close to happening.

Anakinpadmekenobi: Haha, yes, Obi-Wan does have an odd definition of "not panicking", doesn't he? And about Dooku—you know, I had the same feeling. There's a scene later on in this story where he really tries to be nice, and it entirely creeped me out to write it.

ObiBettina7: Mmm, too true. Obi-Wan and Anakin are pretty smart too, though—don't give up on them quite yet.

pronker: I'm pretty sure Obi-Wan can match pretty much anyone with words. But you're right—Anakin gives him a major weakness, and Dooku will certainly play on it. As for the code, Anakin gets the opportunity—just not like he wants.

Mandylouise: Haha, I figure Obi-Wan's mind is probably a pretty sarcastic place. :)

charliebrown1234: Thanks for reviewing! Yes, I have read "Wild Space" and enjoyed it very much. Here's the next chapter you wanted. :)

Onimusha2b: Yes, it is a bit ironic that Obi-Wan isn't analyzing Dooku to the best of his ability, isn't it? Give him some time, though—he'll get there. He at least picked up on how to use Dooku's affection for Qui-Gon.

Torli : I'm guessing this story will probably be somewhere between twenty and thirty chapters, but I can't be sure.

This should be a moment of happiness.

The day that he was given the codes to information only privy to Jedi Council members should have been a moment of celebration for Anakin. Instead, he's alone in the control room after having snuck back into the Jedi Temple once the clones tossed him out. There is no fanfare—no mastery or council seat. There is just him and a computer console, and the knowledge that he needs to wipe the very files he once desired to see.

His fingers skim lightly across the keys and touch screens, inputting the codes that Obi-Wan gave him. Information flashes in front him—bases that he's been to, some that he hasn't, and intelligence he had no idea about, while some that he knew or suspected. There's no time to look at it all, or even to glimpse most of it. For now, his main objective is to erase it all, and then find a way to free Obi-Wan.

It's not easy to erase the files. The Jedi Council isn't stupid: they wouldn't have made it easy to access all the information at one time. But Anakin is not an average person, and his gift with technology and machines is prodigious: backup security systems and firewalls are only a minor annoyance to him once he has the codes he needs.

Still, his fingers pause as he prepares to wipe the system. There's so much information here. So much he wanted to know. Once he wipes it, it will be gone completely, and while he can't quite understand why that bothers him, he knows that it does.

That's not an excuse. A lot in this war has bothered him, but he's pushed through it before, and he'll do so now.

He moves to delete the files.

"Very good, Skywalker. You've been most helpful."

Like icy fingers at the back of his neck, Dooku's voice seems to crawl up his spine, snapping through his body and spreading into everything until the only sensation he can feel in his extremities is an unpleasant tingling. Even that quickly goes numb. He can see his hands, poised on the keyboard, but he doesn't move—doesn't turn around.

"How did you know?" he asks quietly. No point in denying anything. He's been caught.

"Kenobi trusts you… and I am fully aware that he wouldn't give me the information I wanted until he exhausted every last option."

Are he and Obi-Wan really so transparent? He's caught somewhere between anger and embarrassment at the fact that, apparently, they _are_. They'll have to work on that… if they both live through this.

And frankly? It's quite possible that he's about to die, because he's not moving his fingers off the keyboard. He's not going to stop. He won't be able to delete all the information in time, but anything he can keep away from Dooku can be counted a victory.

"Yes, he _is_ stubborn like that," Anakin agrees quietly, leveling his shoulders back, his eyes still focused on the buttons in front of him. They're smooth under his touch, and the pads of his fingers skim over them, until the light sensation almost turns to an ache. What he's about to do—he'll have to be quick about it. "I used to find it annoying when he was so dogged about things like making me do my schoolwork or engaging in meditation, but when it comes to preventing madmen from gaining access to information that could further destroy the galaxy, I find that I'm on his side."

Dooku sighs heavily. "Step back, boy."

Anakin doesn't. He has never been good at following directions. He still isn't.

Pushing those keys down—it's a rush of power. The give under his fingers is an option he never wanted, but it's satisfying, because he knows what he's just done to Dooku.

The information on the screens begins to disappear.

When Dooku lets out a curse—hardly dignified for a self-proclaimed gentlemen such as himself—Anakin is tempted to smile. It's always nice to be underestimated. Of course, it's logical that Dooku did so: no one should have been able to set the information up to be erased so quickly. More than likely, Dooku only expected that he'd have hacked into it by now, leaving it nice and open for Dooku to sift through. It's gratifying to know he's at least ruined that bit of Dooku's plan.

What's not so pleasant is that nothing happens after that.

Anakin doesn't _want_ to die, but feeling nothing is almost worst than pain. It's anticipation, and that's disconcerting. Uncertainty alone is enough to make Anakin turn around… and when he does, he thinks that maybe a lightsaber to his back would have been the better option.

The way Dooku is looking at him—it's murderous. Yet, somehow, he knows even before the man speaks that he won't be the one suffering.

"Shut it down, Skywalker," Dooku murmurs, advancing slowly on Anakin, threatening like Anakin hasn't ever seen, not even in war. This is different. Darker, like someone is choking the light around him. That's a Sith, he realizes. That's the dark side when the being wielding it is one of the most powerful Force-users alive. It wasn't like this on Geonosis. There, Dooku was confident of victory. It was almost a game to him. Here—_here_ Dooku fears he's going to lose, and there is nothing amusing about that for him.

All Anakin can think to do is to keep stalling. The more time he wastes, the more information will be deleted.

"No."

The nasty smile that curls up over Dooku's lips, moving into his eyes like poison racing through veins chills something in Anakin. He doesn't give ground—he won't ever show that he's shaken… but he _is_.

Not enough to give in, though.

"Shut it down, or I'll flay the skin off your master's back inch by inch."

"You wouldn't do it. For whatever reason, you want him alive."

"I didn't say I'd kill him. There's quite a lot you can do to a man without granting him the mercy of death."

Anakin's hands clench on the edges of the console. "You don't want to hurt him."

Dooku is so close now—mere inches from Anakin's face, and Anakin's meets that stare. He meets that darkness, because he is a Jedi, and he won't cower in the face of the dark. He won't cower before anyone ever again.

"At the moment, it is not a matter of what I _want_. It's a matter of what is _necessary_."

"By the time you harm him, the information will be gone."

"Yes," Dooku agrees, "and once the information is gone, you have my word that I'll make him scream for as long as it takes to destroy you… and from what I've heard, you're not an easy man to break."

_A flash of pain. His mother's face. _

Why can't it be him? He'll take the torture… but not Obi-Wan. He saw him after Ventress finished with him, and while Obi-Wan has nightmares of his time with Ventress? Anakin has them of how Obi-Wan looked when he got back. There had been so much damage. His master—he'd been a shadow of himself. He hadn't been Obi-Wan, and even now when Anakin thinks of it, something cold and hard curls in his stomach. He hated that time. He hated not having Obi-Wan be the man he knew, because that man is Anakin's stability, and he _needs_ that.

Against the console, his fingers itch. _Just turn it off_ his heart screams. Abstract duty means nothing when lives are at stake. In fact, it's his duty as a Jedi to _preserve _lives. Just because that life is the life of someone he cares for doesn't change that principle.

Is it a loophole? Not really, but it _is _a crack in the foundation of Anakin's resolve, because he knows with every ounce of his being that Dooku will do exactly as he says.

Clenching his jaw, Anakin tips his head back in the only measure of defiance he has left and glares for all he's worth.

"I understand torture, Skywalker," Dooku whispers, nearly seething with anger now. It's snapping in his eyes and racing through the rest of him, tensing every muscle like a dangerous predator ready to rip its victim to pieces. "I know how to break a man. Start small. Remove a finger, work your way up, then possibly a whole hand. His saber hand—think of that. Unfortunately, wounds like that bleed: they'll need to be cauterized, and, oddly, I've learned that most beings start begging when you set parts of them on fire."

"_No—no—Ventress—stop it—stop—"_

"_It's a nightmare, Obi-Wan! Wake up! You're safe!"_

Anakin swallows hard past the lump that anger and fear have formed in his throat. He'll kill this man. He will. Dooku _will_ pay for this.

"_I-I give up—stop it—"_

"_MASTER!"_

_Obi-Wan's eyes shoot open, seeming almost gray in the faint light of the bedside lamp. There's panic swirling in their depths, and only the beginnings of recognition. "Anakin?"_

_Those three syllables are enough to make Anakin choke on whatever else he was about to say, and he sinks down against his master, as panicked as Obi-Wan looks, because he's never, ever heard Obi-Wan give up. He doesn't want to believe Obi-Wan has it in him. If he does, where does that leave Anakin? Obi-Wan has always been the stronger of the two of them, and if he falls, Anakin knows he won't be far behind. He might even jump willingly._

Obi-Wan can't go through that again. He just can't. Anakin can't watch it.

"_Shhh," Obi-Wan murmurs when Anakin tucks his face in against his neck. Gently, he strokes his fingers down the undone hair of Anakin's padawan braid, tucking his chin on top of his padawan's head. "Hush, Anakin, it's all right."_

_It's not. It's not at all._

_It's not right for Obi-Wan to have to be the one to comfort him—not after what Obi-Wan has gone through. Anakin should be the strong one, but that's never been _them_. Obi-Wan is always the rational, steady half of their team—Anakin is the raw power. To the world, Anakin needs no one's help, and most of the time, he doesn't let himself think any differently. But he knows better. He does. He needs his master. He needs that sense of home. Without it, he can't imagine what he'd be._

_He falls asleep on top of Obi-Wan, trying not to think what would have happened to him if his master hadn't come back._

Something inside of Anakin snaps.

"If you touch him, I'll kriffing kill you with my bare hands," he snarls at Dooku, remembering that night—remembering Obi-Wan's nightmares and his own desperation. "I'll make sure your death is ten times as slow and painful as whatever you do to him."

Dooku just smiles, callous and so, so cruel. "Revenge doesn't reverse injuries inflicted, Skywalker. Your master will still have felt every last painful, drawn-out moment of agony. And, believe me, I'll make sure it's an experience he never forgets."

He lunges at Dooku.

Any attempt—it's pointless. He knows that even before lightning shoots from Dooku's fingers, running through Anakin's body like a spark catching an explosive trail. All along his nerves, it races like fire, searing him inside and out. The smell of burnt flesh—of _him—_settles in the air, but even that sickening miasma is better than the memories swirling in his mind.

"_Stay with me, Mom."_

_He kisses her hand, turning into the touch. _Don't let go, Mom_, he begs. There are so many injuries. These animals have tortured her: he can feel the injuries in the Force and with his own eyes._

_He's going to lose her._

"Stupid boy," Dooku growls out contemptuously as he gazes down at Anakin where he's fallen at Dooku's feet. He pays no heed to the burnt smell or the light smoke hanging on Anakin's clothes and skin. "Your cause _lost_. You abandon your master for something that no longer exists!"

The worst part? That's _true_. Obi-Wan probably wouldn't see it that way, but Anakin does, at least under the circumstances. The rebels—for there will undoubtedly be some—can always start a new base. But Anakin cannot find a new master. He can't replace Obi-Wan.

Staggering to his feet, he falls against the console, clinging to it to stay upright. The information continues to flash before him, steadily deleting. About halfway done now, actually.

_I'm sorry,_ he whispers to nobody… and he _is _sorry.

Just not sorry enough to sacrifice the only parent he's got left.

His fingers shake to the point that he incorrectly enters the security code on the first try, but he gets it in, checks it… and slams his palm down in the general area of the key he needs to press in order to halt the deletion. Part of him hopes he hits it; part of him hopes he doesn't.

The files stop erasing.

As he slips down to lean back against the console, Anakin can hear Dooku sigh with relief, and possibly with satisfaction. If it weren't so embarrassing a prospect, Anakin would probably retch at the noise… and the situation.

What has he done?

The answer hurts, and he doesn't want to face it. He's done so much. This was a mistake, but he'd do it again, and again, and again, because he loves Obi-Wan, and because he knows what Dooku would do to him. They'll find other ways to take this man down—ways that don't involve sacrifices Anakin isn't willing to make.

"If you ever touch him," he whispers, a hand lingering on the edge of the console for support, "I will kill you. I don't care how long it takes, and I don't care what I have to do. I. Will. Kill. You." He knows how venomous he sounds. He wants to. If he had a weapon, he'd probably try to strike Dooku down in anger. It's not something a Jedi should do, but at this point, he doesn't care.

Right now, he is Anakin first, and a Jedi second.

Anakin. Husband. Son. Brother.

He will always do what it takes to defend those he loves, regardless of the consequences.

Oddly, if he's not very much mistaken, there's a flicker of—not fear, exactly—but maybe _unease_ in Dooku's eyes. Such dark eyes. He'll never forget how they looked a moment ago when the dark side was washing over him in a way Anakin has never before seen. He hates Dooku's eyes.

Hands on Anakin's arms startle him enough to look away from Dooku and instead up toward whatever is grabbing him. It's a clone's touch. Two clones… with several more behind them. Once, they were friends, but now all they are is a constant annoyance—just like droids. Always there when he doesn't want them. Does that make them expendable? It could, but he doesn't know.

He's not sure he knows anything right now.

"Take him back to Kenobi," Dooku snaps. He sounds disgusted, and so entirely eager to get Anakin out of his sight—almost a little tired, too. It's possible that he wants the situation to be over just as much as Anakin does. Oddly, if he does, he and Anakin will want that for the same reason: they've both partially failed, and as long as they stay in this room, the evidence of that is going to be staring them in the face.

This time, Anakin doesn't fight. There's nothing he loathes more than taking orders from Dooku, but in this case, the order is something he wants.

He leaves the room quietly.


	10. Chapter 9

**Disclaimer: **I own nothing.

**Feedback**: If you'd be so kind as to leave some, I'll do my best to reply.

**Notes:** ROTS AU.

REV042175: Your in luck as far as wanting to see a little more about Anakin and Obi-Wan's attachment: this chapter addresses it pretty heavily.

SpiritedEstel: I felt the same way in the movies too. I know that by the time the two met on Mustafar, Anakin was already consumed with the dark side, but I was pretty disturbed by the fact that he was all set to just kill Obi-Wan. I mean, over ten years with the guy and he betrayed him that easily.

ThoseWereTheDays: I'm so glad someone caught the reference about Anakin's anger making Dooku uneasy. That was a pretty key point for Dooku's character, and I was worried I was a bit to subtle about it.

Anakinpadmekenobi: Oh, Dooku knew he'd be back. He counted on it, as Obi-Wan explains in this chapter.

ObiBettina7: Oh, Obi-Wan understands. But, you're right—it doesn't mean he's happy about it. But, somehow, he always manages to forgive his slightly wayward former padawan.

charliebrown1234: So true. I love references to Jabiim for exactly the same reason.

pronker: I enjoy that idea of Dooku as Dracula. I enjoy it a lot. :)

Mo Angel: Toward the start of the chapter it explains that they let Anakin go. Dooku knew he'd come back and wanted Anakin to lead him to the plans.

* * *

Anakin is a mess.

He hasn't spoken yet, and Obi-Wan hasn't pushed, but the way he sits limply in his chair beside Obi-Wan's bed is a clear indication that something is _very_ wrong. Anakin is never passive. Even in defeat, he's always all raw energy and a desire for a second chance. When he's not—when he's _not_, Obi-Wan worries, because if Anakin isn't trying to change things, then on some level he usually thinks he deserves what he's gotten. It's subtle self-blame, but there, and the longer it lingers, the more destructive it can be.

"How much does Dooku know?" Obi-Wan asks finally, eyes fixed firmly on the ceiling of the healer's ward. The time he spent here during the war made him hate these ceilings, but it's better than watching Anakin's reaction. He should—should try to glean whatever clues he can—but he can't quite find the motivation to try. He'd like to think he's just trying to spare Anakin the uncomfortably, but he's fully aware that if he really examined his motives he'd find that's not entirely the case.

"About half," Anakin mumbles. "I deleted the other half before he… interfered."

If Dooku caught Anakin deleting files, Obi-Wan can't begin to imagine how Anakin is physically in as good a shape as he's in. Likewise, he can't fathom why Dooku would let them stay together: even if the door is locked—Anakin tried to open it when he was first left here—it's still an unexplained reprieve. Truthfully, it makes no sense: prisoners who stay together stay stronger. It's easier to break down a man who's alone. Why would Dooku give them this advantage?

The only possible explanation Obi-Wan can think of is that Dooku already has what he wants... and Obi-Wan doesn't want to consider that.

"That still leaves one half that he has."

Anakin mutters something that is no doubt uncomplimentary under his breath.

"It wasn't your fault that you got caught, you know. He knew I'd give you the information—he anticipated that you'd come back to wipe those files."

"It was still a risk to let me go. I might have run."

Privately, Obi-Wan can't help but think that it wasn't much of a risk at all. Anakin Skywalker isn't known for cowardice or a proclivity toward deserting his comrades—exactly the opposite, especially if the person in question is someone he has a personal connection with. Dooku was intelligent enough to use that knowledge: to capitalize on the fact that Anakin will fight to save those he cares for, even at a cost that Obi-Wan doesn't like to consider.

Of course, he won't tell Anakin any of that. There is a time and a place to address Anakin's faults, and now is not it.

"A plan with a large payoff almost always has risks," he says instead, rolling his head to its side on the scratchy material of the pillow as he finally glances over at Anakin.

Anakin looks tired. He wears his weariness well, and to someone who wasn't quite so familiar with his mannerisms, it might not be obvious. Obi-Wan, of course, isn't that someone. He sees the signs of Anakin's fatigue in the slight droop of his shoulders; in the way his eyelids are just a little further closed than usual; and even just in the simple fact that he's chosen to sit rather than stand or pace. The Anakin Skywalker he's used to always has to be moving. He never sits still for very long.

"He set us up," Anakin mutters, pinching the bridge of his nose as he looks away, off toward a point on the far wall.

"Yes. I'm aware," Obi-Wan answers wryly. "What I'm not aware of is how he managed to stop the files from deleting if you'd already begun doing so. He didn't have the code."

Immediately, he knows he's touched on something Anakin doesn't want to discuss. It's nothing verbal—Anakin wouldn't give himself away that easily—but the manner is which he stiffens, as though he's just barely checking the impulse to steel himself against a physical blow, is evidence enough. It's not that he thinks Obi-Wan will really hit him, but after nine years of slavery, that reaction was so ingrained in him that he never quite dropped it, and Obi-Wan hadn't had the heart to force him to relieve the memories that would undoubtedly come to the surface if he'd mentioned Anakin's tendency to flinch.

"Does it matter?"

_Oh, Anakin, _he thinks, sighing inwardly, _surely you can do better than that_. An answer like that—well, Anakin must not be trying very hard to think up an excuse. He does that sometimes, when he's just desperate to avoid a topic: he's so averse to whatever the subject is that he won't even address it long enough to consider a valid reason not to talk about it. He simply attempts to avoid it altogether and hope the problem will vanish.

Obi-Wan knows the tactic well: these are the sort of answers he gets when he brings up the subject of a certain Senator that he suspects Anakin knows a bit more intimately than he should.

"Did you give him the code, Anakin?"

"No."

He didn't hesitate in giving his answer. That's good. Hesitation would mean a lie.

It requires effort for Obi-Wan to check the slight hiss of pain he would like to make when he pushes himself up in bed. His leg is sore, to the point that when he moves, it feels as though tiny needles are shifting under his skin. Dooku wasn't lying about having hit a muscle: this is a wound that, even with the best care that can be offered, will take a few days to heal.

Ideally, he'd like to lie back in bed and give himself the time he needs to heal, but there are more important things at hand, and he simply won't address Anakin while flat on his back. It wouldn't do to have Anakin think that his full attention isn't on the matter at hand and, more specifically, on Anakin himself. Anakin is good at brushing aside issues to begin with—Obi-Wan doesn't need to make it any easier for him

"Did you stop the deletion yourself?" he asks, compromising and pushing himself halfway into a sitting position, using the pillows behind him.

This time there's hesitation. More importantly, Anakin flinches slightly again—more like a small twitch, really. Obi-Wan's found what he's looking for… and that also means he's about to encounter Anakin's temper.

His former padawan never was very good at staying calm when he's feeling vulnerable.

"Why, Anakin?"

The exhaustion Obi-Wan previously saw vanishes in the face of questioning, and Anakin heaves himself to his feet, crossing the room with quick strides until he reaches the only window in the room, which is opposite Obi-Wan and the door. Like a small child trying to hide even when he knows he's been found, he stays facing the window, back to Obi-Wan. Even from the bed, Obi-Wan can see how tense he is: how he holds his shoulders as far back as they'll go, while standing up almost unnaturally straight.

"Anakin," he says again, this time more forcefully.

Still no answer. He's hardly even moving. Obi-Wan has to wonder if he's even breathing.

"Anakin, I won't ask again—"

"Then don't bother to ask _this_ time!" Anakin snaps, finally spinning on his heal to face Obi-Wan. His arm flies to the side in a tangible burst of anger, as though he can push Obi-Wan's question away.

"All right," Obi-Wan says with a forced calm, because he's long since learned that fighting Anakin's emotion with his own is only likely to escalate a situation. "I won't _ask, _then. _Tell me_ why you stopped deleting those files."

Anakin's fists clench. "You're not my master anymore. You can't _make _me do anything."

"No, but I _am_ your commanding officer."

He doesn't quite expect the small, nasty smile that worms its way onto Anakin's face. There's no humor in it, but only heaps of ill will… oddly, Obi-Wan doesn't think it's all entirely directed at him. In fact, he suspects that Anakin is directing most of it at himself.

Obi-Wan is only the one _blessed_ enough to be faced with it.

He resists the urge to sigh and pinch the bridge of his nose. By this point, he could teach a seminar on how it feels to handle Anakin's misdirected anger.

"The Republic has been destroyed, Master! You can't command _anything_."

Now would be the point that, if the door were unlocked, Anakin would storm out, probably slamming it. He's always been good at flashy exits… good at making anything flashy, really. Only, Anakin can't leave right now. He has to stay and face this.

As bad as the situation is, Obi-Wan is almost grateful for that.

"You say you don't have to listen to me, yet you still call me master."

Apparently, that hadn't occurred to Anakin: at the very least, he's shocked enough to look as though he's been slapped. That… wasn't quite the reaction Obi-Wan expected, but it _is_ effective.

Then, Anakin looks away.

This time, Obi-Wan does give in and pinches the bridge of his nose. Anakin's not watching anyway.

Really, it's a complete mystery to Obi-Wan how Anakin can go from furious to wounded in a few short seconds. The scope of the boy's emotions never fails to amaze—and confuse—him. Truthfully, _Anakin_ confuses him. In many ways, Obi-Wan understands Anakin better than Anakin understands himself, but in so many situations—in situations like these—that knowledge is purely academic. He knows how Anakin will react, what he'll do, how he'll do it… but he doesn't know _why _he does it. He doesn't feel things like Anakin does—he only knows Anakin well enough to know that _Anakin_ is feeling them.

And, in situations like these, Anakin's hurt—even if Anakin shouldn't be so emotional—always seems to make him relent.

"Anakin," he says quietly after a moment of awkward silence. His tone has dropped—is gentler—and more coaxing than before. Anakin has always responded to affection better than harsh words, and while Obi-Wan was never incredibly good at showing affection, he knows just how effective it is.

And, more importantly, though he doesn't quite want to admit it to himself, he no more desires to reprimand Anakin than Anakin has a desire to be reprimanded.

At the change in tone, Anakin's shoulders sink, and he crosses his arms, looking away. He seems smaller like that, and Obi-Wan is once again struck by the idea that Anakin is trying to hide. How strange that would seem to the population at large. To them, Anakin is the "Hero With No Fear," but in moments like these, the falsity of that is obvious.

In so many ways, Anakin is still a boy, as desperate for reassurance and affirmation as he was when Obi-Wan first met him.

"I'm sorry," Anakin whispers, still not looking up.

In most other situations, Obi-Wan might let the conversation go at that. It's what he's done the few times he's attempted to raise the topic of Padme, only to be met with stony silence and a lack of answers. It's what he did when Anakin came back from Tatooine, after the death of his mother. There's more to that story than Anakin is telling, but Obi-Wan has not pushed. Those are things he hopes Anakin will come to him about when he's ready.

This event is another matter entirely.

Whatever Anakin has done, it has quite possibly ended any hope for saving the Republic. That is not something Obi-Wan can let him hide... no matter how much he might like to.

"Why did you stop the deletion, Anakin?"

Anakin still won't look at him, and he's clutching his arms to his chest so tightly that his knuckles are turning white where he's gripping his elbows. To anyone else, it would look as though he's simply angry and trying to hold it in, but Obi-Wan can see it as the gesture of insecurity that it is.

He just sighs. "Come here."

Surprisingly, Anakin does. His movement is slow—the way he nearly scuffs his feet over the floor might be humorous in another situation—but he finally makes his way to the bed where Obi-Wan is lying.

"Sit down."

It's worth the burn he feels in his leg to push himself all the way into a sitting position, in order that, when Anakin settles on the edge of the bed, they're at nearly equal height. He wants to be on equal terms for this. He _needs _to be.

"You're correct in saying that I can't _order_ you to tell me anything," Obi-Wan tells him after a pause, during which Anakin sits stonily on the bed, eyes downcast and fingers clutched together in his lap. "But, Anakin, we both know that I'm going to find out what happened—if not from you, then probably from Dooku. Would you rather I got the story from him?"

Still no answer, and, Force, he's let Anakin get away with not answering his questions for too long. Anakin is too good at this now--he's done a disservice in letting things go simply because he hoped Anakin would come to him voluntarily. As a master, he should have pushed more, rather than making it easy for Anakin to hide things. It wouldn't have been an invasion of privacy like he'd worried it would be. It would simply have been his job as the main authoritative figure in Anakin's life.

It would have been because he cared, just as much as his desire not to cause Anakin pain by prying was because he cared.

He cared enough to do either, but he simply picked the easier option, and now he's paying for it. Like it or not, he's enabled Anakin to learn how to hide and deceive.

That's not a pleasant thought.

"I would like for you to tell me. But if you don't, I will be forced to request the information from less… pleasant sources."

Anakin scowls. "He… made threats."

"Many people threaten you, Anakin, nearly every day. This is a war. That's what happens."

"No, not… _me_."

"Someone else?"

It's no secret that Anakin is… _fond_ of Padme Amidala, but it's a bit hard for Obi-Wan to believe that Dooku could make a credible threat against her. If she's smart, she'd have fled by now—and Padme _is _smart. Dooku wouldn't have been able to find her to use for leverage. He likely wouldn't even really know to do so—Anakin's feelings aren't _that _well know… or so Obi-Wan hopes. Still, he can't imagine anyone else that Anakin would do something so foolish for.

"Anakin, I know you care for Padme, but—"

That's all it takes to send Anakin spiraling right back off into whatever place of anger he's taken up a part time residence in. "It wasn't Padme!" he shouts, yanking backwards.

Obi-Wan lunges out and catches the sleeve of Anakin's shirt before he can get off the bed, and though he winces when the movement jars his leg, he clenches his fingers tightly against the rough fabric and holds on. For a moment, Anakin keeps the tension, but Obi-Wan doesn't let go. He simply stares Anakin straight in the eye, watching his tumultuous emotions roll like the sea during a storm.

"Sit." The word comes out low and serious, and he knows there's no room for negotiation in his eyes. This is an order. Anakin can choose to disobey it, but Obi-Wan almost never speaks to Anakin this way, at least not anymore, now that he's not his master, and, even then, this tone was reserved for situations of maximum gravity. When Anakin was young, this tone meant he'd done something very wrong—something that Obi-Wan wasn't letting slide.

Obi-Wan knows as soon as the words leave his mouth—as soon as he sees the muted shock in Anakin's eyes—that Anakin will do as he wants.

Anakin sinks back down onto the bed.

"Now then," Obi-Wan begins again, letting go of Anakin's shirt and smoothing out the wrinkles his grip produced. "Who was it?"

Anakin looks up at him, his gaze far off, almost hazy. There's pain there, but more prominently confusion… and guilt. "It was you," he says simply, almost too easily for all the trouble Obi-Wan had to go through to get that confession. "It was you."

Then, the implications of that admittance hit. Muted shock is never pretty, certainly never nice when Anakin looks as though he can't believe he admitted that—can't believe he felt so strongly at all.

Anakin's tongue darts out to wet his lips as he looks away and then back to Obi-Wan, shaking his head slowly, an action so full of guilt. That hurts. It does, because Obi-Wan knows he was never the master to teach Anakin about having no attachments. Is this his fault?

"He—Master, he said he was going to torture you again, and after Ventress—you weren't yourself—and I didn't want that again—I just didn't—I couldn't take having you like that—I didn't—you couldn't—I'm s-sorry—" Once he stops talking he can't seem to stop. The words spill from his mouth in a nearly imperceptible jumble, and Obi-Wan can't think of anything else to do besides grab Anakin and pull him down next to him on the bed.

It's a sign of just how shaken Anakin is that he lets Obi-Wan pull him in against him. It's not that he's averse to affection—he seems to crave it, actually, even more since Obi-Wan is sparing with it—but it's simply that he's never so obvious. Sometimes, during the war, on days when the fighting was particularly bloody or when something had shaken him, he'd slip into Obi-Wan's bed and curl up next to him, both at the Jedi Temple or in the field… but they'd never talk about it in the morning. And this—Obi-Wan never held him like this, not since Anakin became a teenager. If they share a bed, it's just the comfort of being near someone—of Anakin needing to know that someone he trusts is lying next to him. It's also, Obi-Wan suspects, a throwback to the times when Anakin was younger and Obi-Wan could still chase away his nightmares.

"Oh, Anakin," he just sighs, wrapping an arm around him and letting Anakin lie pressed against his side. He used to fit much better. When Obi-Wan first took him as a padawan, Anakin had been able to fit snuggly in his arms… not that he spent much time holding him. He was never quite comfortable showing emotion so obviously. Still, occasionally, when Anakin needed him after a nightmare or a particularly disturbing mission, he was there, probably more often than he's letting himself remember.

"Last time when Ventress—" Anakin mutters, face pressed against Obi-Wan's chest.

"I know," he agrees simply. As Anakin loops an arm over him, he presses his cheek to the boy's hair, holding tightly. He has such thin hair, soft, and different from Obi-Wan's thicker strands. No one would ever mistake Anakin for his son physically… but anyone who saw the way he's holding him now might assume a familial connection anyway.

Anakin finally relaxes.

"You shouldn't have given in."

Anakin doesn't move. "I know."

He does. He really probably does, but just as much as he knows, Obi-Wan is aware he doesn't care. Anakin would make the same decision again. For the people he loves, he will always make decisions like these… and that's dangerous.

He shouldn't. He shouldn't love like this.

But Obi-Wan can't criticize. They're not so different: Anakin will save the people he loves, or die trying; Obi-Wan will do what duty requires of him, and then let the consequences kill him after.

Either way, they both love to the point that it can destroy them.

One of them has just learned how to do it without destroying everyone else.


	11. Chapter 10

**Disclaimer: **I own nothing.

**Feedback**: If you'd be so kind as to leave some, I'll do my best to reply.

**Notes:** ROTS AU.

truthfullies66: I'm glad you noticed the part about Obi-Wan's possible potential. And I agree with you about Anakin in this case—later in the story I feel like he shifts to more of his ROTS persona, but for now I think he's playing off Obi-Wan's presence, like you said. We'll see—please let me know what you think in about how he's acting in about ten chapters.

yahola: The chapter below is basically Dooku's mind games X2. And you're very right about them needing to work through issues in order to strengthen their bond—this chapter addresses that too. Interesting thought about the master/padawan bond. I'm never quite sure how to address that, as the movies never do, and none of the EU books I've read do either. Any suggestions or information would be appreciated, though.

Torli: Aww, thanks! :)

charliebrown1234: I'm glad you caught that. I really think it's the little things that convey emotion well.

Anakinpadmekenobi: Mm, I'm getting a lot of questions about why Dooku left them together. You're right in your assumption, but I'll try to make that clearer later on.

SpiritedEstel: Dooku is going to do his best to try to turn him. We'll see how far he gets. And I so agree about Obi-Wan—he'd be a really scary Sith.

* * *

When Dooku enters the healer's wing, he's not expecting the sight that greets him… and, yet, he's not entirely surprised.

Kenobi is where he knew he'd be: on his back in bed. No one with an injury like Kenobi's would be walking anywhere, at least not for a few days. The unexpected bit is that Skywalker is curled up against him, face pressed into his shoulder and arm around his waist… and he's asleep. So is Kenobi.

How odd. There's something incredibly paternal about the picture they present. This, he imagines, is probably how they looked when Skywalker was a child who sought comfort from his master. And Kenobi, whether or not he realizes it, is, at least in this situation, every inch the father holding his son.

It's an odd notion. He never did this with Qui-Gon. Jedi don't do this. Dooku knows this, and, yet, there's something about it that makes him wonder what it would be like to have another person trust him so implicitly as to fall asleep laying against him. That's trust, and there's something about that which Dooku can't begin to understand. He has never been trusted enough to feel something so _personal_. He's not sure he'd want to… and, yet, he's not entirely sure that he wouldn't.

Of course, Skywalker is no longer a child who should need this sort of physical comfort from his master… but he was, and Dooku is certain that's when something like this first occurred. And now, in a time when Skywalker has been pushed nearly to his limit, he's seeking out something that, Dooku suspects, has always made him feel safe.

Dooku's relationship with Qui-Gon was never like this. He cared for the boy—loved him in his own way, even—but if he hugged him, it was a loose, one armed embrace, and Qui-Gon certainly never fell asleep against him. That wasn't their relationship. Perhaps it had to do with the fact that they were closer in age than Kenobi and Skywalker, and also that Qui-Gon was older when he was apprenticed. Still, there's something about seeing such raw trust that makes him wonder what it would have been like… perhaps even miss something he never had.

What would it have been like to care for a child like this?

He doesn't get much time to contemplate it, because Obi-Wan takes that moment to crack his eyes open. It's only a small movement at first, showing a sliver of the changeable color that was previously hidden, but it catches Dooku's attention… just as Dooku's presence catches Obi-Wan's.

They dying light of the Coruscant day is streaming in through the window, catching on Kenobi's face and hair and trickling down across Skywalker. In the light, Kenobi's hair appears redder. Combined with Skywalker's brown where Kenobi's bearded chin is pressed against the top of the boy's head, it appears a bit strange. An odd mosaic of color. Odd, like the two men curled together in such a familial manner. Yet, still strangely beautiful and… nearly right.

At first, Kenobi doesn't say anything. He simply watches Dooku, one hand still on Anakin's back, almost protectively, though there's nothing overt about it. It's simply a sense he's projecting, not necessarily even in the Force.

When he does speak, his face doesn't change. "You're a coward," he says simply. There's nothing in his tone to indicate that he's addressing anything more serious than the weather, but it would be impossible to miss the accusation.

"I'm almost insulted, Master Kenobi."

Still no physical reaction. "And I'm downright offended."

He enjoys the solid sound of his footfalls on the floor as he strides confidently over toward the bed, dropping a shadow down across it. The colors of their hair seem to blend to an even greater degree when they're in the shadows. Strange, like the two meld closer when pushed into darkness. He doesn't very much want to consider the implications of that. "Your personal feelings are certainly of the utmost importance. We should discuss whatever it is that is troubling you."

Obi-Wan doesn't bite at his sarcasm. "What do you want from me?" he asks, finally giving some sort of reaction, though it's only a slight creasing at the edges of his eyes.

Dooku almost smiles. Good question, and one that he doesn't even fully know the answer to. "Haven't we discussed this before?"

"Not to my satisfaction."

There's a reason why Dooku admires this man: Kenobi is down but not out, and even from a hospital bed, he's continues to refuse to be cowed. Still, he's subtle about it: he's not like Skywalker, with his loud displays and explosions of temper. Kenobi fights back in the small ways, through intelligence and careful planning.

In a straight out fight, Skywalker might be more dangerous, but Dooku is well aware of who is more potentially damaging in the quiet moments.

And the quiet moments win wars.

"And Force forbid we don't attain that," Dooku replies icily.

That earns him a light chuckle. "Anakin might take your side on this."

"Hmm, yes, Skywalker. I rather think he'd disagree with me on principle alone."

Frankly, he can't understand how the boy is still asleep. He should have heard them speaking by now.

Kenobi gives a light nod, smiling thinly. The movement slips him out of Dooku's shadow momentarily, and a ray of light falls down across his face, catching… something. Dooku isn't sure quite what. Resolve? Strength? Calculation? "More than likely you're correct—Anakin isn't overly fond of you." Again, he states it like a fact no more interesting than the weather. "I'm rather reluctant to wake him up, you know—I doubt he will make this conversation any more pleasant."

"To say it was pleasant to begin with?"

Obi-Wan gives a tiny shrug. The material of the pillow catches from the movement, rasping against his back. Skywalker shifts slightly, but still doesn't wake.

"In the same way that negotiating with Hutts, bounty hunters, and terrorists is pleasant."

Insults are always so much more civilized when delivered deadpan. Dooku can almost appreciate it—can appreciate the difference between the uncouth insults that frequently seem to occur in places with alcohol and people who can't control their tempers and the insults that take more thought and intelligence.

"I'm assuming he's not asleep entirely under his own power?" Skywalker is stupid, but he at least has self-preservation instincts. He would have woken by now.

"A mild Force shield. I'm blocking the sound and keeping him from sensing you."

Impressive—covering a Force signature is difficult to do.

"Well, perhaps it's for the best. He didn't do terribly well handling his duties the first time, did he? When he's allowed to talk, he seems to have a tendency to reveal things he shouldn't."

Finally, there's a spark of visible irritation. It's small—seen only in a barely perceptible tightening of his mouth, but still there. Oh, it's most certainly there. Perfect. "I think you underestimate Anakin."

"And I am of the opinion that you _overestimate_ him."

"We'll see," Kenobi says, as though it's truly that simple.

Perhaps it is. Dooku is willing to allow for that.

"There is still the matter of you giving me false information."

"Yes, well, from a certain point of view, I didn't, did?" He looks pleased with himself, if only a little. He's too smart to think that such a small triumph will matter in the greater scheme of things, but still, it's something, and Dooku will let him have that. He has bigger things to gain. "You asked for the location of a Republic base. You never said it had to be active at the end of the war."

"Clever."

"I try."

"Next time, try harder." He taps his finger to his mouth a little absently as he pauses, turning his back to Obi-Wan in an effort to hide his now-pleased smile. He enjoys holding the upper hand. He always has. "Master Kenobi, you're an intelligent man, but I've had the benefit of years of experience which you don't have. I've seen thousands of men rise and fall, and I've learned that everyone has a weakness. It's only a matter of finding it… and I think we both know very well what yours is."

He turns around just in time to see Obi-Wan clench his jaw and, very briefly, tense the hand he has on Skywalker's back for a second time. Endearing, really. He loves the boy. Loves him too much, actually. It makes manipulation possible.

"Hmm," Obi-Wan mutters, nodding and looking away very deliberately. "Is this the part where you want me to agree to all your stipulations? I'll still have to refuse, I'm afraid."

Yes, but there's the beginning of unease, and that is all Dooku needs. This isn't an attempt to turn Obi-Wan away from his narrow-minded dogmatic Jedi views—not directly. This is about showing him who holds the power, and how "from a certain point of view" or not, Dooku won't tolerate being lied to.

"It's funny, you know," he begins, lightly turning to walk to the end of the bed, his shadow following behind. "This galaxy idolizes heroes. But when heroes fall, they become the most despised villains of all."

There's definitely a flame of unease in Kenobi's gaze now. He knows, in a vague sense, at least, what is coming—Dooku is certain.

That is not, of course, a reason not to try—not for Kenobi. Rather, he tips his chin back and stares Dooku in the face. Admirable. Even on Geonosis, Dooku appreciated that bent: that desire to keep looking right until the very end, until Dooku's lightsaber would have cut him clear in half. He never closed his eyes.

He doesn't do it now, either.

"Your fight is with _me_."

"Don't flatter yourself. My fight is with the stagnation of the Jedi and with the corruption of the Republic. You are merely an intriguing prisoner. My interest in you comes from the fact that you are, in a sense, my grandson. It does not come from any view of you as an equal opponent. Not any longer. You have lost. It would be best to admit that to yourself now."

"If you think that, then you have no cause to—"

"Contrary to what you clearly believe, Master Kenobi, I don't have to invent things to discredit Skywalker."

He raises his eyebrows accusingly. "But you will."

"Yes," he agrees, nodding. "But not entirely. What I invent—that will be so easily believed because of what truly happened. Once there is truth, it can be combined with a lie until the two are indistinguishable."

"Anakin can be… a bit unorthodox at times, but he hasn't done anything that's criminal, at least in the context of a war."

"And before the war?"

Obi-Wan takes a shallow breath. "You don't have a real charge against him. Not one that's as serious as you're speaking of."

Quite the contrary, actually. He's got plenty on Skywalker. Or, rather, Sidious did. And though the man was deplorable in many ways, Dooku does have to thank him for gaining this information, though he's sure Sidious didn't tell him everything.

"Wake him up."

Kenobi doesn't move. Everything about him is challenging, almost daring Dooku to try and make him.

Suddenly, Dooku very much wants to see his face when he realizes exactly what information he has on Skywalker. Frankly, he's surprised that Kenobi has hidden Skywalker's indiscretions for him all these years… though, he's not _that _surprised. So much can be justified in one's own mind, even the covering up of criminal acts.

"Wake him up, or_ I_ will do it, and my bedside manner is far less kind than yours, I'm sure."

Yes, that will do it. Kenobi knows he's got no leverage. In a situation like this, he can only pick the better of two very undesirable options.

With one last spark of a glare, Kenobi does as he's told. Dooku can feel the shields in place around Skywalker slip away, though he chooses not to comment on it as he watches Kenobi shake Skywalker awake.

Skywalker opens his eyes slowly, blinking a few times, long lashes sweeping down over his cheeks. He looks tired, slightly groggy, even. Dooku would have thought that years in a war zone would have cured him of that. Perhaps it's just Kenobi. Skywalker seems to trust that Kenobi will take care of things for him. That's an important detail—one Dooku will have to capitalize on. "Hmm, what, Master?" Skywalker mutters, sparing enough effort to glance up at Kenobi.

Whatever he finds on Kenobi's face—and Dooku will admit that he doesn't know Kenobi well enough to know exactly what it is—startles him fully awake. Moments later, he's sitting up, running a hand through his hair and thoroughly dispensing all traces of sleep with the ease of someone who's learned from those aforementioned years in a war zone.

And he's focusing on Dooku.

"I've had more pleasant wake-up calls," he mutters, scooting back on the bed.

How interesting. He's trying to put himself between Dooku and Kenobi. Of course, it might be more intimidating if he hadn't been sleeping for the last ten minutes while Kenobi quite easily took care of himself. It's always pride with Skywalker—always posturing, feeling like he's needed.

Pathetic. Power isn't in posturing. Dooku has learned that.

It's being able to back up your threats.

"And I've had more pleasant prisoners. But let's not quibble over details."

"By all means," Skywalker begins, casually waving his hand, "feel free to dispense with the pleasantries and tell us the reason for your less-than-welcome visit."

Behind Skywalker, Kenobi shifts on the bed, rolling slightly onto his side. He can't quite hide the small flinch that causes, but he downplays it fairly well. "Anakin—"

Dooku holds up a hand to silence him. "We all know that impatience is one of Skywalker's vices, Master Kenobi. It's a bit late to cover that now."

Cleary, he's struck a nerve: Kenobi's demeanor darkens, and it appears very much as though he thinks Dooku is something on the bottom of his boot. It's simply a reminder that Kenobi isn't without his own pride, though Dooku is more inclined to believe that it comes more in the form of contempt for those who don't believe as he does, rather than from confidence in himself. "Yes, well, we all have our vices, don't we, Dooku? Some of us tend toward impatience, while others have to contend with a lust for power and homicidal tendencies."

As far as slights go, it's a decent one. He's seen better from Kenobi, but still, not bad. What's really relevant, however, is that Kenobi brought the later point up at all. He knows Skywalker's indiscretions, and mentioning homicide is completely unwise considering what Skywalker has done… and Kenobi is not an unwise man.

It doesn't make sense that Kenobi would do something so unwise. He's given Dooku a perfect entrance. He's not foolish enough to do that.

Unless… unless Kenobi doesn't know.

Something remarkably close to excitement—perhaps even glee—leaps in Dooku's chest. Kenobi doesn't know. That's perfect. He couldn't have planned it better. Not only is Kenobi going to have to watch Skywalker fall, but he's going to be faced with the knowledge that the man he thought he knew—the man he thought trusted him—is hiding things—dangerous and immoral things—from him.

Perfect.

He nearly feels bad using the opening Kenobi unknowingly gave him. After all, he doesn't truly want to destroy the man, but this—this is necessary.

And Dooku was never one to pass up a good opportunity.

"I agree, Master Kenobi," he says, falsely magnanimous, as he inclines his head. "Skywalker does encompass all those vices rather thoroughly, doesn't he?"

On the edge of the bed, Skywalker sits up a little straighter. That's what a guilty conscience will do—make one paranoid. There's no possibility that he can know for sure what information Dooku has, but as past damaging indiscretions are apt to do, the possibility of what could be said haunts him. In Dooku's experience, that's always an undiscovered criminal's fear—that this will be the day they'll be found out. It's a terrible thing to live with. Sometimes, the worry—or even the guilt—drives people mad, even to the point where they confess.

It's possible that's why Skywalker confessed to Sidious.

Of course, it's interesting how, even though he had no notion of who Palpatine was, he still trusted him to keep his confidence on the secret of murder. He was the Chancellor of the Republic—he should have been the last person Skywalker would confide in about something illegal. But, somehow, without even realizing it, he seemed to intuitively know that Palpatine would accept his darkness while Kenobi would not.

And Kenobi has no idea.

It's almost tragic.

"War is a terrible thing, Dooku," Kenobi says a little irritably, "but I'd wouldn't call it homicide. And, if it was, all those deaths could be laid directly at your feet."

"And the slaughter of a village of sand people? What would you call that?"

It's a sign of just how good Kenobi's control is that he's able to completely wipe his face of any emotions; he stares at Dooku, analyzing everything with a calm, steady stare that has the beginnings of confusion hidden behind it. "I would call that another of your lies. The sand people aren't involved in this war."

Skywalker's control isn't nearly as good as Kenobi's: a tinge of red rises in his cheeks, and his entire body tenses up, as though a jolt of electricity has just shot through him. Even his feet grind a little harder into the floor, and the mattress of the bed groans in protest as he pushes back against it more forcefully.

Kenobi notices.

"Anakin?"

"I'll tell you what, Skywalker," Dooku begins smugly, enjoying every burst and flair of pain and guilt on Skywalker's face, "I'll be kind enough to let you explain it to your master. And then, you can explain it to the courts."

Oh, yes. That earns him the reaction he wants.

In a burst of raw energy and possibly panic, Skywalker surges to his feet. Kenobi manages to grab the back of his shirt to keep him from lunging forward, and Dooku has to admit that he's surprised when Skywalker yields under that. Given that his master is on his back in bed, he should be able to break free.

"How did you know?" he whispers.

Pitiful. This boy professes to follow the light, but his biggest concern is how someone discovered his indiscretions, not that he committed them in the first place. "I should think that to be the least of your worries. A better question would be why your master _doesn't_."

And, clearly, Kenobi doesn't. That much is obvious in the way his face has drained of blood, fading to a color that appears even more wan against his copper hair. He looks positively ill.

"Anakin." Kenobi's voice comes out low and authoritative, and Skywalker stiffens under the tone, "Sit down."

Skywalker does. His eyes flutter closed for the briefest of moments, almost resigned, like an animal that knows its race has been run. He knows he's been caught, and, Dooku suspects, probably by the man he wanted to hide it from the most.

"I couldn't tell you, Obi-Wan," he says when he opens his eyes again. He doesn't look at Kenobi, but it's obvious that none of his attention is on Dooku. At this point, it's all about trying to salvage the one support he has.

Before he even starts talking, Dooku knows he'll succeed.

Kenobi will be furious—that's a given—but he will also stand by Skywalker, because that is what he does. He may not approve of his decisions, but he won't abandon him to whatever this is.

Again, Dooku is struck with the odd feeling of wondering what it would be like to care for another being that much.

He pushes the feeling aside and, smiling nastily, turns toward the door. Pausing, he takes only long enough to toss one last biting remark over his shoulder: "If I were you, Skywalker, I'd air your dirty laundry now—I suspect Kenobi would rather hear it from you than from the holonet."

In a few days, that's where it all will be. Skywalker isn't going to have any more secrets.

His days of being a hero are over. The light is going out on the son of the suns.

More importantly, Dooku's sun is just rising.


	12. Chapter 11

**Disclaimer: **I own nothing.

**Feedback**: If you'd be so kind as to leave some, I'll do my best to reply.

**Notes:** ROTS AU.

XxRandom NemesisxX: Yes, Dooku is one manipulative guy.

RoMythe: I'm getting a lot of people wanting to know what's happened to the other characters. Don't worry—it's coming. About two more chapters and then Padme is going to begin factoring in heavily. Thanks so much for reading!

anakinpadmekenobi: I really imagine that Dooku would be the kind of guy who twisted people's own actions back around onto him. He seems kind of subtle like that.

yellow 14: Yes, large armies, aka control of the clones is a pretty solid motivator for the senate to accept Dooku. As will become evident later, those who didn't accept him either "disappeared" or made a run for it.

Pronker:  Yes, Dooku is walking a _very _fine line right now. And, no, I don't think he has many illusions about himself. He knows his strengths and his weaknesses, and he just plays to his strengths and works to insure his weaknesses don't trip him up (with the exception of overconfidence and pride, which I think he's overlooking).

ObiBettina7: I agree—Dooku is very often overlooked. I don't quite understand why, given that he has the potential to be an incredibly fun character to write. He's got so much potential to be a fantastic villain.

Maddie Rose: Their relationship, as you can probably tell, is one of my favorites.

Chleom: Thank you!

Torli: Yes, Dooku is still somewhat torn. And Anakin will go to trial, but Dooku controls the courts—he's not so much looking to execute Anakin as he is to smear his reputation, which, really, is just a way to indirectly get at Obi-Wan. That will be explained better next chapter.

* * *

Anakin hasn't felt like this in a long time.

He's felt precursors to it every time something reminds him of his slaughter in the Tusken Camp, but this horrible feeling, as if something has crawled up and died in his gut—a lot of time has passed since he felt like this. He's seldom felt so exposed. Over the course of the war there have been numerous moments of utter catastrophe and despair, but only a few where it felt like it wasn't going to get better.

But in this situation? He can't see how it _can _get better. He can't fix this.

The way Obi-Wan is staring at him, as if Anakin is suddenly someone entirely different, is unnerving. Anakin would like to scream—shake Obi-Wan, tell him that he's not any different. He just made a mistake. A horrible, horrible mistake.

"What did you do, Anakin?" Obi-Wan asks finally, covering his mouth with his hand. His knuckles are white with the strength of the grip, and his skin drains of blood under the areas were his fingers are bearing down, but Obi-Wan still doesn't look away: Anakin is sure he's never going to stop seeing that stare, boring into him, just waiting for answers.

"They—you don't understand!"

Stupid. So stupid. None of this is Obi-Wan's fault, and it's foolish to blame him, but Anakin can't examine himself right now. It's selfish and wrong, but it's easier to chalk his faults up to Obi-Wan's lack of understanding than it is to face them like the adult he is. The adult he should be. Sometimes, in between all the battles and missions that he so often commands, he wonders if those leadership rolls really reflect who he is. Men live and die on his command, but sometimes he feels so young, like he's still that scared little boy from Tatooine, missing his mother and trying to understand the man who's going to train him. _Has_ trained him. Sometimes, he thinks he's never really understood Obi-Wan at all.

Obi-Wan's eyes turn cold, and the hand falls away from his mouth, leaving red marks on the skin of his chin. They're barely visible through his beard, but Anakin's tuned in to every change. "Then make me understand."

"THEY KILLED MY MOTHER!"

Oh, Force, that hurts. He's admitted it to the Chancellor, but that admission—it was different. It's not like this. With the Chancellor, he knew what he'd receive: he knew he'd get what he wanted to hear, and knowing that—it didn't have to be real. With Obi-Wan, it's real, and it's like feeling her death all over again.

There's some satisfaction to be had in the slight widening of Obi-Wan's eyes. At least he's gotten a reaction, even if it's one he doesn't want. It's a terrible, horrible satisfaction, but at least he's being recognized, and somehow, it feels good to get this out.

"I found her," he chokes out, "in their camp. They tortured her!"

Slowly, Obi-Wan pushes himself forward, to the edge of the bed, and swings his legs down. It's clearly causing him pain, but he doesn't mention it, and Anakin doesn't ask. He doesn't even move. He can't—not under that stare, and not when he fears that if he does, he'll be alone.

He doesn't want to be alone right now.

"Anakin—"

"And she _died_, Obi-Wan. I found her, and she died. She died in my arms. It wasn't fair. It wasn't fair at all!" he very nearly screams, hardly registering how he flings his arm to the side, smashing it into the wall. Pain shoots up his wrist, and he's dented the wall, but he doesn't care. That pain is trivial compared to what he's feeling emotionally.

"She _died_!" he screams again. "And me—it was my fault. I promised! Promised I'd come back! And she hung on until I did! She let go because—because _I _found her. If it had been someone else, she'd have hung on, because she wanted to see me. But she said—said she was complete. And she just _died_!" The weight in his arms, holding her, looking into her eyes. He'll never forget that. It was vacant, like looking into a deserted building, the kind he saw in war, all broken, with smashed glass, and the idea that, although someone lived there once, all that remained was desolation. The emptiness had terrified him, because that wasn't his mother. "You don't know what it's like to have a parent die in your arms. You don't understand what it's like to have them fight to hang on until they see you just that one more time, and then let go because they have. You don't—"

Somehow—Anakin doesn't know how—Obi-Wan is on his feet. Purpose drips from every inch of his demeanor, and when he heads forward, Anakin never thinks of moving. He lets Obi-Wan grasp the sides of his face, fingers digging into his temples and hair, holding him firmly, forcing him to meet a gaze that's as fierce and angry as the one he had to face on that transport on Geonosis, after Padme fell.

_Do your duty_.

"Yes, Anakin, I do. I understand better than anyone else what it's like to have a parent struck down before your eyes. I know what it's like to touch the dark side because you want revenge. And, most of all, I know what it's like to hold that person in your arms when he die."

Oh, Force. He does. He _does_, and Anakin _forgot_. He didn't mean it. Not any of it. Qui-Gon—

But Obi-Wan's not done.

"Let me tell you what _you_ don't know," he continues, quietly now, every word with purpose. "You don't know what it's like to watch a son—a brother—make your mistakes. You have never raised a child, Anakin. _You _don't know. You don't know what _I _am feeling right now, and you don't try to know. You're lost in your own pain, and because you have always been the most important thing in the lives of the people close to you, you assume that you arethe _only_ important thing. You can't see beyond yourself."

Anakin can't look away. He hates what he's hearing, but he can't stop listening.

Obi-Wan keeps talking, even when Anakin raises his hands to Obi-Wan's forearms, holding tightly. It's not an attempt to break his grip. If anything, he's clinging in fear that Obi-Wan will let go. "Your pain is significant, Anakin. I'm not marginalizing that. But other people have pain, too. See beyond yourself."

"_You_ never did!"

Obi-Wan doesn't flinch, even though they're mere inches apart. Where this venom is coming from, Anakin doesn't know, but he can't check it now, and the tiny remaining part of him that's rational is praying that Obi-Wan will still take him back once this has passed. The rest of him—the rest of him is a hurt little boy who wants his mother, and who remembers what it's like to be alone, and just wants the pain to stop.

"It took you months before you could touch me without flinching! All I wanted was my mother, and you weren't there! I couldn't have her, but you wouldn't let me have you, either! You were so caught up in your own pain! You couldn't see me! I hate you! I wanted you, and I HATE you!"

What's he even saying? He doesn't hate Obi-Wan. He doesn't hate him at all. He loves him. Why's he doing this?

Obi-Wan grips tighter, until Anakin suspects he might have bruises later. He doesn't care. He holds on just as tight, squeezing flesh and gasping for air that his rage has stolen from his lungs.

"Maybe I _was_ lost in my own pain," Obi-Wan answers, more rationally than anything else in the situation would dictate. "But I found my way out again. You gave me a reason to, Anakin. You were a little boy, and you needed me. At first I didn't want you, but I found out I needed you."

"Not soon enough," he chokes, his voice breaking. He tries to look away.

Obi-Wan shakes him until he looks back. "Hate me for failing you if you want, Anakin, but understand that if you make the same mistakes that I made, you'll have to hate yourself as well."

He's hardly aware of his legs buckling, other than the sharp sting in his knees as he hits the floor. He'll have bruises there tomorrow, and probably on his face where Obi-Wan is holding him. "I already do."

Obi-Wan falls with him, sinking to the floor in a way that probably has as much to do with his injuries as with anything else. "Love can't live in hate, Anakin. Do you want to condemn yourself to a life of hate?"

No. He wants to love. Padme. Obi-Wan. He doesn't want to hate, but he's so lost.

What he's done—he doesn't deserve forgiveness. He killed them all, and then he hid it. What kind of person does that?

_The kind you're fighting to destroy_, his mind whispers. He is the very thing he's fighting to destroy.

He doesn't realize he's crying—just tiny little choking sobs that hardly qualify as crying at all—until Obi-Wan's grip begins to ease. It's marginal at first, but then his fingers slip down, wiping away the moisture. That's so like Obi-Wan: both harsh and tender, never telling Anakin what he wants to hear at the expense of the truth, but still there. He's always there.

He always has been.

Even in those first days, he was there. Maybe not like Anakin wanted, but he was still there. He moved beyond his pain in a way Anakin hasn't been able to, and Anakin _sees _that, but he can't admit it, because even if he knows Obi-Wan did the best he could in a difficult situation, he had wanted _more. _He'd been a little boy who had expected someone hardly old enough to be considered a man himself to give him everything his mother had been able to. He wants to cling to the hurt he felt when Obi-Wan wasn't able to give him what he needed, because without that hurt, he has no reason to be angry with Obi-Wan… and that leaves only anger at himself.

He can't face that. Not yet.

"I know the pain of losing your parent, Anakin. I truly do," Obi-Wan whispers, so much more gentle now as he gives Anakin a small, sad smile. "But you can't let it destroy you."

Choking on a sob, he pulls back away from Obi-Wan and pushes himself to his feet, stumbling over toward the window. He makes it—just barely—and reaches out to skim his fingertips along the smooth glass surface. Force help him. He just can't face this… but Obi-Wan isn't going to let him keep running.

"How did you do it?"

Obi-Wan doesn't move from his place on the floor. "Do what?"

"You didn't want me, but you took me, and you took care of me. You put aside your own pain and focused on a child you didn't even want."

"There is no clear answer for that. I simply did what I had to do."

"Then maybe you're just stronger than I am."

"Possibly. Or perhaps you're just taking the easy way out because you don't have another life depending on you. It's easier when you're only ruining yourself."

His fingers slip over the glass as he clenches his hands into fists, leaving prints against the window from his palms. Another smear that he's made on an otherwise perfect surface. Symbolism like that isn't pretty, and if he could, he'd look away from it all.

Slowly, he leans in and rests his head against the cool surface, not wanting to see the smears anymore.

"Bet you wish Qui-Gon had never assigned you a burden like me, huh?" Slowly, he dips his head to the side, resting his temple against the glass as he stares back at Obi-Wan.

Obi-Wan just looks at him with clear eyes… and smiles. "Anakin, you weren't a burden. You were a gift. I just didn't realize it at first."

"You can't possibly convince me that this—" He pauses, sweeping his arm outward to encompass the room, and then himself, "is a gift."

Obi-Wan keeps smiling, not necessarily happy, but not quite sad, either. Whatever it is, it's close to in between. "Not the situation, no. But _you_ were."

"You're not making any sense."

"I think you understand anyway."

"Maybe I need to hear you _say_ it."

Sighing, Obi-Wan leans back, bracing his hands on the floor behind him. "What you really mean is that you need to hear that you're wanted. If that's the case, I'm sorry I never told you sooner."

He shrugs, glancing away long enough to wipe the lingering residue of tears off his face. "I think I knew."

"Clearly not as well as you should have."

Another shrug. "Maybe not."

"I know you missed your mother, Anakin. I know you wanted more from me when I first became your master. But what you need to understand is that I tried my best, and you of all people should realize what I was fighting through. Qui-Gon was dead, and I hated the man who had killed him. That hate didn't end when I defeated that Sith. The dark side doesn't let go that easily. I had to let the light chase it out, and it took time. I was fighting the battle you're fighting now, and I was doing it while I was training a padawan. I tried my best, and I'm sorry that I failed to give you what you needed."

He shouldn't be, Anakin realizes. He should be proud that his master found his way back to the light at all. Obi-Wan didn't let his anger and his hate consume him like Anakin did. But it could have… and for that Obi-Wan understands what Anakin is feeling and has felt.

It's something Anakin never considered.

He was so sure Obi-Wan would never understand; he never entertained the thought that he might understand better than just about anyone else.

"I killed them all, Master. The men, the women, and the children."

"Yes."

"That's it?"

Obi-Wan sighs again, bringing a hand up to pinch the bride of his nose. "I didn't want you at first, you know. You were a reminder of everything I'd lost… and everything I had to live for. I didn't want to be reminded of either. I didn't want to feel at all, because it hurt too much. But, Anakin, what you don't understand—what you haven't experienced—is the complexity of having a life depend on you. You don't understand how, after a while, that life becomes more important than your own."

"My life isn't more important than yours, Obi-Wan."

Obi-Wan hardly even blinks. "To me it is. And I think that's what you need to know."

"What about what I did?"

He can't be forgiven that easily. It can't be that simple.

"You committed a heinous crime, Anakin. There are always consequences for something like that."

"But you—don't you—how can you even—?"

"The same way I could look at myself in the mirror after I killed that Sith out of anger. The same way I still face myself every day. There are always consequences—I know that better than anyone—but in this particular case, I won't be the one to met out punishment."

"I wish you were." At least then it would be private. What Dooku is going to do to him—well, Anakin can't let himself consider it right now. One problem at a time. "I'm not the Jedi I should be."

Obi-Wan gives a small snort. How he manages to sound dignified doing that is completely beyond Anakin—but that's just Obi-Wan. He always seems to make everything dignified. "None of us are."

"Obi-Wan, I should be expelled from the Order. You know that."

"Contrary to what you believe, Anakin, the Council doesn't throw people out because they enjoy it. In the past, the Order has been willing to give second chances for those who are willing to attempt to fix their mistakes. I will not lie to you—if this had come to light only weeks ago, you would have faced serious disciplinary action from the Jedi Order. But now—now it is merely a matter of whether _you_ can move beyond what you've done and accept the consequences that will still undoubtedly come. That won't be simple or easy, but it can be accomplished if you want it enough to try. But, quite honestly, Anakin, you can only fix your own faults if you're willing to face them… and you've never been very good at that."

"Are you saying I'm not willing to try?"

"Only you can know that. _You_ tell _me_: are you ready to face up to your faults and shortcomings? Or would you prefer take the easier path and give into your anger? We both know that's what's easier. I know. I've felt it. But I also know that it's weakness to take that path. Strength is facing down the darkness that put you on that path in the first place."

He knows what Obi-Wan is saying without actually straight out saying it. _You're arrogant. You think you're never wrong. But, clearly, you are. Look where it's gotten you. Now, are you willing to admit that your way isn't the right one?_

No, he's not ready. He still wants to think he's right. Only he can't. Not anymore, not when the results of his actions are staring him in the face. Even though he'd like to keep blaming others, he knows this is all him. He killed the sand people. He touched the dark side. Yes, his mother had been murdered, but what he did—that can't be accounted for by circumstance. He should have had better control, and the realization that he didn't… it's frightening, because he should be better than that.

He thought he was. He thought all the worry about his lack of control was for nothing. He knew what he as doing. He still does. He wants to _think_ he does, and he's been trying hard to keep thinking that ever since what he did on Tatooine. Only, now everything is collapsing around him, and no matter where he looks, all he can see are the things he's done to get to this point.

He can't blame this on anyone else.

All his life he thought he was right—that he was being held back by Obi-Wan, the council, the _Jedi,_ because they were jealous of the power he had. Now, he sees exactly what they were trying to hold him back from.

It's not a pretty realization.

"I'm sorry," he says.

And this time he means it.

Another man—someone less composed—might react more obviously, but Obi-Wan just nods. It's not about grand reactions with Obi-Wan: it's about the satisfaction in his eyes, the contentment, and the sense that maybe everything is going to be all right. It's not Obi-Wan saying he won't be punished—because Obi-Wan has made it very clear that, even if the punishment doesn't come from him, it _will_ come—but it _is _him saying he'll be there with Anakin through it.

Anakin is sure his world is about to come crashing down around him, but with the way Obi-Wan is looking at him now, he doesn't feel like it.

And, for the moment, that is enough.


	13. Chapter 12

**Disclaimer: **I own nothing.

**Feedback**: If you'd be so kind as to leave some, I'll do my best to reply.

**Notes:** ROTS AU.

xXJedi Knight BlazeXx: Yeah, I enjoy them very much as well.

Jedi Angel001: I always wished that the movies had addressed how past events affected the characters more. They never really touch on what it was like to be Obi-Wan, someone who was just barely an adult himself, who had just undergone a traumatic event, and who suddenly had to raise a small child right after that event. Anakin's background as a slave seems pretty much ignored, too.

anakinpadmekenobi: Yeah, Anakin has to turn to the dark side, choke his wife, and attempt to kill Obi-Wan before he finally yells at him. That's some kind of patience.

Mo Angel: Well, he's already essentially in prison. Dooku's point is to pretty much shred his credibility and reputation.

Pronker: Yes, Anakin doesn't confess easily—I definitely agree. And I always loved Obi-Wan's stern we-will-talk-about-this-later-and-I-know-best stare.

ObiBettina7: Oh, yeah, Dooku still has a lot in store.

RoMythe: Dooku doesn't know about the marriage, but it will still come up—in this chapter, actually. Anakin might just have learned something about hiding things from Obi-Wan, after all…

Mastrada101: Thanks! :)

Smoltenica: Oh, thank you so much!

* * *

I've got a new video up on YouTube. It's called "Just Got To Let It Go", and it deals with Anakin's inability to release his attachments. It's not based on this story, but it highlights the attachments that are so prevalent in it. Take a look if you want (I'd appreciate it).

* * *

Anakin never gets a trial. He never gets to have his say. There's no reason.

In the eyes of the Republic, he's already guilty.

It didn't take much. There was no admittance-he didn't confess to the murder of the sand people. He didn't confess to anything. Instead, the whole Republic saw him entering codes on the computer… and then stepping away and letting Dooku have the information. That was all they needed to see.

To the Republic, he looks like an informant, and the one who betrayed the entire loyalist cause.

Dooku only took the end of the security tape. It shouldn't be enough. People should be able to see that Anakin's hands are shaking, that he looks almost ill when he steps away from the console. No one does. No one cares what his reasons are, or that the footage could easily indicate that he was forced to do what he did. All that matters is that it's obvious that he _did _give over the codes.

Dooku has just waltzed into the Republic's capital and taken over, ending a millennia of democracy. The people don't want justice—they want a scapegoat, a reason for why this has happened. The people of the Republic want someone to blame… and Anakin is a convenient target.

Amazing how quickly people will turn on someone they once hailed as a hero.

Regardless of public opinion, it's still not as though Anakin could get a fair trial, anyhow—no one can. Dooku has left the basic structure of the government in place, but it no longer functions. He is the Supreme Chancellor; the courts still exist; and the Senate remains, though it is entirely loyal to Dooku—all the Senators who aren't have either been executed or have fled.

Of course, Anakin doesn't even get the illusion of a credible trial. His case is reviewed and put to a vote—a mere shadow of how the courts used to run. He never gets to speak. No one questions that. To question it would mean to question Dooku, and anyone who is fond of living doesn't do that.

It's not the trial that bothers Obi-Wan. He knew it would be a travesty. He knew Anakin would be found guilty—Dooku told him as much. Rather, apart from the Republic's willingness to vilify Anakin, what bothers him the most is that some of the crimes Anakin is accused of he actually committed.

When the evidence regarding what Anakin did to the sand people is laid out, it's hardly even noticed. There's already enough hatred toward Anakin to make it nearly irrelevant. To most people, it's only another piece in the puzzle, another thing to point at to show just how terrible he truly is, and how he's been like that all along… but that's it. Beyond that, no one cares about the creatures on a far away planet that's not even in the Republic. What they care about is that Anakin Skywalker, the man they thought was a hero, is actually the one to blame for the fall of the Republic.

After a while Obi-Wan just turns off the holonet.

At first, it seemed a blessing to be back in a place where he even _got_ the holonet; frankly, he's surprised that Dooku let them back in their quarters at all. The door is locked from the outside, of course, and guards are posted, but still, it's more comfortable than a cell.

At least, it should be.

He thought it would be. Now, though, Obi-Wan has to wonder if this is a sort of torture. Their world has been turned upside down, and every familiar thing is a reminder that even if his world looks the same, it isn't. It feels entirely wrong to be living somewhere so familiar when he's lost everything else he recognizes.

And Anakin… he is little more than a shadow.

Haunted by his decisions, failures, and the prospect of the future, he is a mixture of light and dark. He knows that he could very easily drown in his negativity, and the torrent of emotions he's been forced to face in the last few days is pulling him down. Obi-Wan can see him sinking, but he doesn't know how to pull him out.

"I need to talk to you."

Glancing up from where he's bent over his datapad—he's long since turned off the holonet, and it's a tacit agreement between him and Anakin that Anakin is not to watch it—he examines his former apprentice's state.

Anakin doesn't look good. Theoretically, now that they're back in their quarters, he should be sleeping better, but as far as Obi-Wan can tell, it doesn't look like he's been sleeping at _all_. At least, very little. Judging from the mess that his hair is in, he's laid down in bed, but his bloodshot eyes make it obvious that he hasn't slept, probably not in days.

"I'll put on some tea," he says quietly, abandoning the datapad as he rises from his place at the table and heads to the stove.

Anakin just nods and sits down in a chair beside the one Obi-Wan just vacated. Though, "sit" may be a bit of a generous observation. In reality, it's more like _collapses_. He doesn't bother to rebuild, either: he threads his fingers into his hair, gripping tightly and settling his forehead in his palm.

"I need to talk to you," he says again.

"And I'm very willing to listen. You know that. And I'm sure you also know that, in order to survive, you need sleep." It's an attempt at humor, but it falls flat, and he's left standing at the stove with a kettle of water, watching Anakin refuse to look up at him.

"I can't sleep."

"You could ask for help."

"A mind trick isn't going to make everything better."

He settles the kettle on the stove. "No, but it still might help you sleep."

A sigh. "Please just stop. You can help me later, but right now—I just—I need to tell you something, okay?"

The sheer weariness in Anakin's tone—almost bordering on despair—is enough to immediately gain Obi-Wan's undivided attention. Done with the tea, he sits back down at the table and watches Anakin carefully. Truthfully, he's had enough revelations from his former padawan as of late, and just from the look of Anakin, he knows he's about to get another.

Splendid.

He has to fight the urge to copy Anakin and cradle his head in his hands. Perhaps he should just forgo the tea and head straight to something… stronger. Maybe that's what he should have done when Qui-Gon died: instead of distracting himself with a padawan, he could have just drunk himself into a stupor like a normal grieving person.

But, no. He doesn't regret his decision for a moment. Not even now.

"I'm listening," he says instead, hoping that whatever it is, it won't be too bad.

Anakin drops his hand and looks up at him, hair in his eyes and lips thinned. Obi-Wan's hopes of a problem that's easy to resolve are ripped up before they really even had a chance to take root.

"I'm married."

Of course he is. Obi-Wan can't really even find the effort to be surprised.

_Oh, Anakin, can you possibly make any more bad decisions?_

"I'd ask to whom, but I don't think that's really necessary."

Anakin has always been a bit in love with Padme, right from the time that he met her. More importantly, Obi-Wan has always known about it. It's a little difficult not to when his first crash course in counseling on matters of the heart was prompted because a ten-year-old Anakin boldly announced one day when he saw Padme on the holonet that he was going to marry her. Obi-Wan had been forced to sit him down and give him a very awkward talk about how, while all Jedi feel _urges_, it is their duty to put them aside for the sake of their roles as keepers of the peace.

Anakin had disagreed, and in typical Anakin fashion, he'd never stopped.

Of course, Obi-Wan hadn't thought he actually _would _marryPadme.

He probably should have. Anakin never does anything he cares about halfway.

"Am I going to have to watch a story about this on the holonet, too?" Obi-Wan asks, finally giving into that urge to rest his head in his hand.

He regrets his words the moment that Anakin's face pinches, as though he's making a valiant effort to shut down his emotions… and is failing. The extra condemnation is not what Anakin needs right now. He already knows he's done wrong, and if Obi-Wan wants him to keep confessing things, he needs to find a way to present him with the truth without alienating him completely.

People gave him the moniker "The Negotiator" because of his diplomatic accomplishments during the war, but he's fairly certain he deserves it more because of his interactions with Anakin.

_That _is where he really learned his skills.

"Dooku doesn't know," Anakin finally replies.

"And why are you telling me now?"

"Is that your way of asking why I didn't tell you before?"

"No. It's my way of asking why you're telling me _now_. I'm well aware of the reasons you wouldn't have told me this before." Would he have gone to the Council about this? He should have. Yet, something—probably the thing that has always prompted him to cover Anakin's indiscretions before—tells him that he wouldn't have. This would have been just like everything else: he would have been angry, would have rebuked Anakin, but he would have kept it between them. Whether that's right or wrong, he's not sure, but it's what he's always done, and he can't imagine doing anything differently. In all honesty, he tries not to think too much about it.

Anakin sighs heavily, and leans back in his chair, fixing his eyes on a point on the ceiling. "I don't know where she is."

"And you're worried."

"I love her. Obi-Wan, I—" He pauses, scrubbing a hand over his face, "I love her more than anything else, more than I _should—_"

"Padme can take care of herself, Anakin." That comes our harsher than he'd have liked. He wants to be patient and understanding—he truly does, but Anakin has been hiding so much for so long. It's as though he never respected any of the tenants of the Order he was raised in—as though he thought he knew better than a thousand years of collective wisdom.

That may be exactly the problem. Anakin always thought he knew best, and to be so deliberately disobedient because he was sure he knew better in every way—that's an arrogance Obi-Wan can't quite comprehend. Even if there was the possibility that he was right about some things, he was still completely wrong in how he went about displaying that.

Anakin rises abruptly from his seat. "I shouldn't have told you this."

That's irritating. It really, truly is, and Obi-Wan has let Anakin get away with that kind of childishness for too long.

"Oh, sit down, Anakin," he snaps, surprising both himself and Anakin with his temper. Anakin isn't the only one worn down by these last few days. "Just because you don't get the reaction you want isn't a reason to act like a sullen child."

Anakin sinks back into the chair, though judging from the stiffness in his face, he's working very hard not to glower.

"This isn't easy for me, either, you know," he admits once Anakin is fully seated again.

"Dooku hasn't assassinated your entire character."

"No, but he has _yours_, and he did it because I didn't give him the information he wanted. Have you stopped to think how that makes _me_ feel?"

Clearly not. If Anakin had, he wouldn't look so surprised, as though he's just realized exactly what Obi-Wan is blaming himself for. There's a strange mixture of contrition and irritation on his face: he can't quite seem to decide what he wants to feel, and, as Anakin always seems to, he'd rather try to feel everything than to control his emotions.

"But it wasn't your fault—"

"And it wasn't your fault that Dooku forced your hand to gain an advantage. Do you feel any less guilty for giving over the information he wanted?"

Anakin's expression twists into one of confusion and guilt, and maybe a little self-disgust. "I'm sorry."

Right. Well, that's a start. Or, at least it would be if Anakin hadn't said that the last time they had one of these talks. As of yet, Obi-Wan isn't seeing the changes he'd like. Anakin is trying—he knows that—but everything is crashing down on him at once, and it's hard to dig yourself out of an already deep hole when someone is throwing more dirt down on top of you.

Running a hand through his hair, he pushes aside his own negative feelings. Anakin is trying. Obi-Wan just needs to be patient and wait for this situation to stabilize. They'll figure something out. They always do.

"I know you're right. It's just—"

"Hard to see people burning effigies of you in the streets? I imagine that it is."

Pushing his chair back, he gets to his feet and heads over toward where the water is boiling. Oddly, he's not really in the mood for tea anymore, but brewing it gives him something to do. It's good to be moving, keeping his hands busy, doing something other than just _sitting_.

"We can't let Dooku do this."

And _that _is Anakin.

He can't explain why hearing those words is so comforting, other than to say that they sound like Anakin. He far prefers the boy who wants to fix things to the one he's been living with for the last few days. That person—he's not pleasant at all, and his depression is catching. Besides, Anakin has a sort of fire that Obi-Wan, though he counters it with rationality, can't help but be caught up in. Passion like that—it's motivating, and Obi-Wan has missed it.

"And have you got a plan?" he asks, finishing with the tea and placing a mug in front of Anakin before pouring his own. From the way Anakin glances down at it, he'd probably very much like something a little stronger, too.

"First, we need to find a way out of here."

"Logical," he replies with a hint of sarcasm. "And your plan for _that_?"

"Look, Dooku's good, but every plan has to have a hole. We just need to find that." At Obi-Wan's questioning glance, he pushes his tea mug to his other hand and adds, "I don't have a plan for that. Yet. But I will. Or you will. We just need to wait. He'll slip up eventually."

"And in the meantime?"

Anakin's hand clenches around his mug. "I hate it when you do this."

"Do what?"

"When you just let me keep talking without giving any input. It's what you did when I was a padawan and you were trying to make me think a situation all the way through. I'm not a padawan anymore."

How can someone with as much brash self-confidence as Anakin also be so insecure? "You also hate it when I interrupt you," he points out.

Surprisingly, Anakin just nods. "No, you're right. I just—I'm frustrated, and everything is getting to me. I'm worried about—about—"

Clearly, he's still not comfortable talking about his wife with Obi-Wan. Years of denying the relationship's existence at all was probably quite instrumental in fomenting that. "You're worried about Padme. And, Anakin—I—" How can he say that he knows it must be terribly hard to deal with the hate Anakin is experiencing right now? He's being labeled a traitor. People want him dead. Everything he's ever worked for has been smashed and thrown at his feet.

Anakin waves him off. "I don't want to talk about it. I want to do something. You've been off your feet for over a week—you need to get back in shape. We should spar."

Not a bad idea. Plus, Anakin will probably enjoy the irony of the fact that Obi-Wan explicitly banned that sort of thing in their apartment after a ten-year-old Anakin destroyed the holovid projector while wrestling with a friend when Obi-Wan was out.

"Weaponless, I'm assuming?" They don't have lightsabers anymore. It's not as though they can do much else.

Anakin nods, suddenly grinning. "Yeah. Are we going for contact or avoidance?" It's a nice way of asking whether they're really trying to take each other down right away or whether they'll both play more defensive with occasional strikes—whether they want to drag this out for a little while.

"Either." He may have been out of commission for a few days, but he's not about to give Anakin the satisfaction of knowing he expects him to win.

"Force or not?"

"Minimal. Don't break the holovid projector again."

Anakin smirks lightly. He's got that slightly devilish spark back in his eyes, and for the time being, Obi-Wan knows he's forgotten the unwelcome turn his life has taken. In this moment, he might as well be a child anticipating the prospect of roughhousing with a friend. Of course, for Jedi, roughhousing is a highly refined form of combat that, in other situations, can be deadly.

But for Anakin—and Obi-Wan—in situations like these, it's play.

Grinning, Obi-Wan nods in the direction of their sitting room. "Help me move the furniture."


	14. Chapter 13

**Disclaimer: **I own nothing.

**Feedback**: If you'd be so kind as to leave some, I'll do my best to reply.

**Notes:** ROTS AU.

* * *

For everyone who's waiting for her, Padme factors heavily in the next chapter. Sorry it took so long.

* * *

ThoseWereTheDays: It was really nice to be able to sneak a little bit of a lighter tone into the end there. As a general rule, my stories are pretty emotionally packed and serious—don't know why, but they just seem to head that way all on their own—but I like to put a bit of something lighter in occasionally.

truthfullies66: In this case, I'll have to disagree. I think there's a very large difference between accepting your child and agreeing with what they're doing. Obi-Wan may not accept what Anakin is _doing_, but he accepts _Anakin_ and cares for him even though he sees his imperfections and mistakes. I also think Obi-Wan has more than earned his trust. Thanks so much for the review, though—it's always wonderful to get feedback. I'm not entirely sure what you mean by undercurrents, though.

Estora: Yeah, the updates do come quickly, but that's because I have 90% of the story written. I'm just editing now. You're completely correct about Anakin: he's going to have a tough time with this. Also, congrats on being done for now with university! I just finished my first year, and it's quite a treat being able to relax a bit, though I don't think I've taken full advantage of it yet.

anakinpadmekenobi: The thing with the files was totally a tribute the bit with Palpatine and the assassination. Videos can so easily lie.

Pronker: I think one of the keys to Dooku's character (at least in the way I'm choosing to portray him) is that some part of him does regret what he's lost, but like any person who's gone down the wrong path, that often isn't enough to make them change.

ObiBettina7: No bugs, though that's mainly because Anakin is ridiculously good with mechanics and might have a good shot at finding it. Plus, _not _bugging the quarters is a good way for Dooku to mess with their minds and make them wonder why. I'll try to address that a little better soon, though.

yellow 14: Well, they haven't forgotten, but there's not much they can do, so it's just easier to blame someone that they're allowed to blame, aka Anakin. But people do change loyalties awfully fast, don't they?

IsadoraJohnson: Thank you so much!

charliebrown1234: Good call. It's the later of two. :)

* * *

Kenobi's true age shows in moments like these.

He plays at being older—probably because he was one of the youngest on the Council—but in reality, he's only in his late thirties. That's not so old at all. Dooku would know.

Kenobi can't fool anyone when he's like this. From a purely objectively physical point of view, Skywalker is the better fighter, it's true, but Kenobi knows his moves well enough to be his match. The way he ducks Skywalker's blows, more intent on evading them than returning his own is a reflection of his lightsaber style. Skywalker expends energy. Kenobi waits. Then, when he sees an opening, he takes it.

And, goodness, he's quick. Always thinking a move ahead, considering his strategy while Skywalker relies on raw talent. Kenobi wins with thought; Skywalker wins with power. They're an interesting combination, and probably will be for a while to come: Kenobi isn't quite as close to being the quintessential older Jedi Master as he'd lead people to think with his demeanor.

Dooku has always found weaponless sparring to be somewhat unrefined—even barbaric—but the way these two fight, he finds that he has to suspend his beliefs. What they are doing—it's almost choreographed, the result of two men who know each other's moves as well as they know their own. This isn't a glorified fistfight as he so often feels weaponless sparring is. This is all about evasion and anticipation, and it's a sight to behold.

"Tired, yet?" Skywalker teases, ducking to the side and blocking Kenobi's punch. He catches his wrist, trying to twist him down to his knees, but Kenobi rolls with it quickly enough to duck under Skywalker's arm and up behind him.

"Contrary to what you believe," he murmurs between breaths, "those sixteen extra years have only given me time to get in better shape than you."

Skywalker snorts and kicks backward at Kenobi, who ducks away from the attack, trying to sweep Skywalker's feet out from under him. Skywalker manages to jump, and the two fall back facing each other again.

Quite honestly, Dooku is a bit surprised they haven't noticed him yet. He's shielding his presence, yes, but he's standing in their kitchen, watching them. The angle of the wall provides shielding, but it's still interesting that they're so engrossed in their play that they've let their guard down. Perhaps it's being back in the place they call home. No matter what, it's to Dooku's advantage: he's rather enjoying this display, and it's also giving him the opportunity to gather valuable observations about his prisoners.

Familiarity has been the downfall of many a man, he thinks smugly.

"'Member when we did this when I was younger?" Skywalker asks with a wicked smile.

Kenobi darts back, blocking Skywalker's blow with his forearm, then being blocked himself. He just barely manages to avoid taking a knee to his stomach.

"I'll concede that I had a bit of an unfair advantage."

Skywalker flips over Kenobi's head—a useless, superfluous move used only for show, Dooku thinks disdainfully—and strikes out at his back. Not surprisingly, the flip easily broadcasted his intentions, and Kenobi meets his kick by grabbing Skywalker's ankle and flipping him off his feet.

Skywalker lands hard, but is already rolling when Kenobi tries to pin him down, and instead they're left locked, Skywalker's hand around Kenobi's left wrist; Kenobi's hand around Skywalker's right.

If they hadn't moved the furniture out into the kitchen, it would be demolished by now.

"Especially when it wasn't official training," Skywalker grunts, trying to roll over to gain the advantage. No such luck—Kenobi uses his own weight to keep them even and on their sides: a momentary stalemate.

Skywalker will win this one, Dooku guesses. He's larger than Kenobi, and once a fight reaches this point, that counts for a good deal.

"I was… perfectly," Kenobi pauses, exhaling heavily, "within my rights as a master to dangle you upside down until you conceded the fight."

"And I'm perfectly with—within my rights to do _this_."

Grunting with exertion, Skywalker finally wins the upper hand and flips Kenobi. One side of his body pins Kenobi's arm; with his right arm he presses Kenobi's other wrist into the floor, and then pushes his left forearm against his throat.

Kenobi just laughs.

It's an interesting way to escape reality. These two, while they are training, are more at play than anything. Skywalker wants to forget the situation bearing down upon him, and Kenobi wants to as well, and in the physical exertion of a fight, they can do that. They do not have to consider anything but one another's next move.

Dooku has to admit, he's somewhat fascinated by the easy camaraderie that they share.

"'M not so little anymore, hmm?" Skywalker teases, pushing down lightly.

Kenobi doesn't seem the least bit distressed that Skywalker is pushing down against him in a way that, with one slip, could seriously injure his neck and cut off his breathing. Dooku can't imagine trusting someone to that degree. Even when sparring with a fellow Jedi, it was always an uncomfortable position to be in. No matter whether it was a serious situation or not, it was still a _loss_, and he could never quite trust that his opponent didn't intend him harm. Perhaps he's cynical. Perhaps not. It's possible that Kenobi and Skywalker are just unusual.

With one final grin, Skywalker rolls off Kenobi and bounces up to his feet, reaching down to give Kenobi a hand in getting up. Kenobi takes the offered help, but for some strange reason, Skywalker's face freezes. Dooku doesn't understand what he's seeing from Kenobi at first…

…at least not until Kenobi yanks Skywalker forward and off-balance, throwing him back down to the floor and reversing their positions exactly.

"What have I always told you, Anakin?" he asks good-naturedly, though the undercurrent of an informal lesson can't be denied. "Don't ever let your guard down, especially if your opponent hasn't conceded the fight."

Something disgustingly close to a pout blooms on Skywalker's face. "That's a cheap move, Obi-Wan."

Dooku has to wonder if he's actually ever said that to a true enemy. Frankly, it wouldn't surprise him. Skywalker is remarkably adamant about his opponents playing by the rules, even if he himself would prefer to act as though there were no rules at all.

"I've always been thrifty."

Skywalker groans. "That's a really bad joke, Master."

"I'm sorry you can't grasp the fine art of puns. Now, do you concede?"

"Fine," he mutters, nodding against Obi-Wan's forearm. "You win this one. Another round?"

There's a laugh both in Kenobi's eyes and on his lips when he moves off Skywalker. Arching an eyebrow, he gives him a light pat on the cheek, teasing, and so easily familiar and almost… affectionate that Dooku can't understand it. "As you so kindly pointed out at numerous points in the last half hour, I'm an old man who's been flat on his back in bed for the last week. I need my rest."

"Aww, you're not that old," Anakin protests, rolling over onto his side and propping his head up with his palm, elbow on the floor.

"Flattery won't get you another round, Anakin."

"In that case, I think you're giving Yoda a run for his money."

Enough of this. Dooku has more important things to do than listen to these two argue like siblings. It's unthinkable that Kenobi, as a Jedi Master, would tolerate such insolence from a subordinate, and his former apprentice at that.

"An interesting observation, Skywalker, considering that Master Yoda has passed into the Force."

It's gratifying to see the surprise on both their faces. Both are still breathing hard, and they're dripping with sweat, but somehow their breath catches anyway. It could be the sudden realization of his presence, though it's more likely that the revelation that Yoda is dead is what truly startles them.

Dooku understands that matter, at least. Yoda is the symbol of the Jedi. He is, in the eyes of many, nearly unbeatable. He is the master that is held up as the ideal, as the ultimate Jedi to young padawans. In many ways, he is everything that a Jedi is supposed to be.

And he is dead.

To Skywalker's credit—which Dooku is loath to give him—he recovers fairly quickly—quicker than Kenobi, actually. Perhaps it is the fact that Kenobi was trained by Yoda when he was young. He had Kenobi's undying respect and loyalty, while Skywalker, Dooku suspects, never quite felt that same loyalty. It's not as though he can blame him. Yoda, from what he heard, always seemed to half suspect that Skywalker would fail. Nothing about that breeds affection.

"Nice to know that your loyalty is absolutely non-existent," he sneers, wiping his sweaty palms off on his shirt. "It takes a cold person to kill the being who trained him."

Dooku isn't entirely sure why that comment riles him, but for whatever reason, it does, and he's disliking Skywalker more by the minute. "Rather, it was simply what was necessary. Clearly, you weren't listening when Kenobi taught you the importance of not being ruled by your emotions."

He may be getting to know Kenobi's mannerisms a bit too well: he half expects him to reply with some sort of caustic comment, likely proclaiming that Skywalker _never _listened. Dooku is certain that if he weren't present and his point came up in another manner, Kenobi would most certainly say something of that fashion.

It is also, Dooku will concede, if only to himself, quite possible that he's putting too much thought into this.

Skywalker shrugs. "I liked to pick and choose. What's your excuse for _your_ shortcomings?"

How odd that Kenobi still hasn't spoken. Instead, he's merely standing there, hands resting lightly on his hips almost as though he's trying to steady himself and bring his reality back into focus.

"I hardly think he needs one, Anakin."

Skywalker looks back at him, confused, as though he can't quite decide whether Obi-Wan is setting up an insult or reprimanding him. Quite likely, sometimes it's hard to tell. Kenobi can, at times, turn subtle into an art form… and Skywalker probably loses a lot of that in translation.

"At this point, he's destroyed just about anyone who might ask for any sort of an explanation."

If Dooku had known that a mention of Yoda could get this sort of reaction from Kenobi, he might have said something sooner. Then again, it is possible that he wouldn't have. He almost regrets the fury smoldering in Kenobi, the way his face has tightened and his shoulders have tensed back in anger. Was this how he looked when Qui-Gon died? Did his mouth twist up like that then, as though he's biting back words?

"Master?" Anakin asks, almost a little worriedly from off to the side.

"How does it feel to be completely unquestioned, Dooku?" he asks, remarkably calmly for all the distaste he's showing on his face. "And also completely alone."

"That's the price of the ability to make things as they should be, I'm afraid," he says evenly, hands tucked behind his back as he looks stiffly at the man before him.

Kenobi hardly even blinks. "The price for _power_, you mean. You have no one left."

Perhaps that's correct, but he doesn't appreciate the way that resonates. He doesn't like the truth in it. It is undeniable that he is in control of the galaxy now, but it is also equally true that everyone he has ever cared about is gone. Even Yoda. Was it necessary? Was it worth it?

It was. He is certain it was. The Jedi were wrong.

He will make Kenobi see that in time, and, if not, then at least he will have a small reminder of a man who, though they weren't particularly close, did care about him… and whom he cared about.

Qui-Gon Jinn was a great man.

And Obi-Wan Kenobi is his legacy.

He would almost like to congratulate his padawan on a job well done. Qui-Gon managed to raise a boy whose mind is quick, who understands duty, and who has a touch of the mannerisms that hint at a gentility which Dooku appreciates. Kenobi could have been a nobleman, or, though Kenobi would quite hate to admit it, a politician. The way that he caries himself—it speaks of impeccable manners, and an almost aristocratic bent. It's something Dooku can understand and appreciate… and nearly be proud to claim as the closest thing to a descendent that he will have.

"I have no one left?" Dooku asks casually, enjoying the play of anger across Kenobi's face. "According to the Jedi, I should need no one else."

Obi-Wan Kenobi is very seldom at a loss for words. He's known for his quick wit, but in the face of a comment like that, he's silent. That is, Dooku suspects, most likely because he knows it's true.

Kenobi never could follow that rule, no more than Skywalker could.

They simply had different reactions to their attachment.

"Get out," he murmurs, eyes burning. That anger is controlled, but still so present, and Dooku lets himself relish it. This—it's feeling, and to be human is to do that.

Not like the Jedi.

It means Kenobi is human, and humans can be influenced.

"Master Kenobi," he says stiffly, "I do not believe that you have the ability to eject me from a place that I _own_."

No flinch. No outburst. Nothing to indicate how furious that fact—the fact that Dooku now owns the Jedi Temple—makes Kenobi beyond the unbelievable intensity in his stare. And that—most men would cower under _that_.

Dooku is not most men.

"The only thing you own, Dooku, is the building," Skywalker snaps, moving forward beside his master. "Despite what you clearly think, you don't own the Jedi Order."

Stupid. Utterly idiotic. "I'll concede that, if only because I _eliminated _it." After all, it's difficult to own what no longer exists.

"There are still others out there."

In all honesty, there are. Though, not nearly as many as Skywalker would hope, and it will only be a matter of time before Dooku finds them and either works them into his plans or kills them. He'll rebuild this Order the way _he_ wants it, he thinks smugly, tossing his cape back over his shoulder with a casual flick.

Kenobi's hand settles on Anakin's shoulder, pulling him back far more gently than his current temperament would indicate him capable of. His fingers tighten, wordlessly making the action an order, and Skywalker, though he obviously doesn't like it, doesn't shake the order off.

"Let it alone, Anakin," Kenobi says quietly. It's not a reprimand, but merely a reminder that this isn't Anakin's fight—not now, at least. At the moment, this conversation has somehow settled solely between Dooku and Kenobi: Skywalker is only a spectator and occasional participant in something that goes far deeper into a history—Qui-Gon, Yoda, life that includes little other than the Order—that Skywalker doesn't share.

"I imagine you're a busy man now. You didn't come here without a purpose."

Which, simply put, is only a politer way of saying to state his business or get out. Though his lips never twitch, he feels a smile under the skin. What Kenobi has just done_—that_ is diplomacy.

It's an encouraging sign, given what he's about to offer.

"You should know by now, Master Kenobi, that I _always _have a purpose, even if I don't decide to share it with you."

Kenobi begins to roll his eyes, but seems to catch the gesture and settle for crossing his arms instead. "Was your purpose in coming here to quite literally tell me that you don't want to share that purpose? Goodness, I've seen senators with less of a desire to make pointless displays of their power."

Skywalker snickers. Just barely, but Dooku catches it. So uncouth, that boy. No manners at all, and not enough style to make up for it. How could Sidious have ever wanted this boy as his apprentice? How does Kenobi? How can anyone stand to voluntarily interact with Skywalker, much less train him?

"And I've seen Jedi who endeavor to do a better job restraining themselves from casting unwise insults."

"Is that your way of telling me that if I keep pushing you'll take the opportunity to make a less-than-trivial demonstration of that power?"

He waves his hand lightly. "If you're curious, by all means, try."

Kenobi doesn't seem particularly keen to do that. Rather, he just sighs and steps back, waiting. He is, Dooku imagines, good at that. That's half of what negotiation and diplomacy is: wait for the other side to talk itself into a corner, grow tired of talking (which so seldom happens, unfortunately), or reach the point where they're willing to listen.

"No? That's quite possibly the first good decision you've made thus far."

Oh, yes. Kenobi resents that, but he stays quiet. Pity. Dooku was almost looking forward to seeing how long it took Skywalker to scream when hit with Force lightning. He didn't get to properly experiment with that on Geonosis, and he'd very much like the chance.

Perhaps at a later date.

"Let's try for two in a row, shall we?" he asks, tucking his hands behind his back and pacing alongside the wall. Ordinarily, there would be furniture there, but it's currently resting in the kitchen, making room for the impromptu sparing exercise. Perhaps he should consider allowing these two time to use the training rooms. He'd very much hate for the Jedi Temple to be irrevocably damaged now that he owns it.

"I have a proposal for you, Master Kenobi."

Dooku might as well have announced that the carpet is beige for all the interest Kenobi shows. "I can hardly wait."

Skywalker looks a bit more interested. Standing just behind Kenobi, he watches Dooku intently, with the look of someone who's mentally fitting his enemy for a body bag.

"As I'm sure you can imagine," he begins, stopping his pacing to observe Kenobi's reaction, "not everyone has taken well to the defeat of your forces. Now that I am unopposed by a truly threatening opponent, it is conceivable that I could simply eliminate the populations of the planets who refuse cooperation, but I find that I would prefer something a bit more… subtle."

"Yes, genocide certainly isn't _subtle_," Obi-Wan mutters dryly, running a hand over his beard.

In that, at least, they agree. More importantly, it's such a messy option—necessary sometimes, but difficult to clean up after. "No," he admits slowly, "but I believe that _you _are quite capable of giving me the alternative option that I desire."

"We may have differing opinions on that matter."

"I'm sure we do." He feels his lips stretch back over his teeth in what he's sure is not a kind smile. That's all right. He has no need for kindness at the moment. He only needs to gain cooperation. "However, I'm certain that you'll find it's _my _opinion that counts. Now, then, here is what I want: I wish for you to help these star systems along to peacefully joining what is being reorganized as the First Galactic Empire."

Kenobi's face twists in disgust. "You want me to negotiate a settlement that convinces them to join you?"

Skywalker steps up a little closer behind Kenobi. His fingers brush the space where his lightsaber should be, and Dooku finds himself casually wondering which Skywalker misses more: his arm or his weapon, since as far as Dooku can tell, he used them both about equally.

"Forgive me. I don't mean to give you a task that offends your delicate sensibilities," he replies dryly. "Instead, consider the fact that you'll be saving millions of lives."

Skywalker appears even more offended than Kenobi, though Dooku doubts that's the case. Behind that blank, slightly irritated visage, he's certain Kenobi's insides are crawling at what he's just been asked to do. Help an enemy to save lives—it must be an interesting conundrum for him. Offensive, certainly, but possibly necessary, just like the war he's been fighting in for years now.

"What you're saying is he has to convince them to join you, or you'll kill them all," Skywalker says, scowling.

"Essentially."

"And you're not worried that if I leave, I'll simply run?" Kenobi asks.

Dooku would very much like to sigh. "Master Kenobi, you're many things, but a man who turns and runs is not one of them."

"I know when retreat is the better option."

Perhaps he does, but he knows more about duty—about never turning his back on a comrade. And when that comrade is Skywalker, he knows better than anyone.

And, clearly, Skywalker knows that and, because he's willing to acknowledge that supposed fault when Kenobi isn't, he reaches the answer first.

Shifting his weight uncomfortably onto one foot, Skywalker narrows his eyes and murmurs, "I'll be staying here, won't I?"

Interesting that Kenobi didn't consider otherwise. Was it projected wistful thinking that turned into willing blindness? Normally, Dooku could care less, but he likes to know his opponents… and those in his employ.

Soon, Kenobi will be the later.

"As Skywalker has so competently—a word I don't use lightly on his behalf—pointed out, he won't be accompanying you. In fact, if he did, the public at large would likely kill him more efficiently than I ever could: he's _that_ despised at the moment. Therefore, he will be remaining here. Strangely enough, I don't think I'll have to worry about you returning."

"Bet you half hope he doesn't come back," Skywalker mutters. "I'm sure you'd just _love_ the opportunity to separate my head from my shoulders. You'd be disappointed if the public got to do it first."

Too true. "You'd be wise not to tempt me."

Kenobi hardly blinks. "And I'd be foolish to accept your word. How do I know that you won't kill him while I'm gone?"

"Simply ask yourself, Master Kenobi: what motivation would I have to do that, at least beyond my own personal feelings? I do not mean for you to negotiate only one peaceful resolution, and I am quite aware that if you return to find Skywalker in more than one piece, you will be disinclined to do that."

He knows he's trapped. Dooku can see it in his gaze, in the stubborn refusal to admit it, but in the burning irritation at his inability to find a way out. Kenobi isn't going anywhere… expect where Dooku wants him to.

"Do we have a deal?" he asks, extending a hand.

Kenobi doesn't take the proffered hand, at least not right away.

"Don't count on any long term service," he says quietly.

That's laughable. Mere posturing—that's all it is. Kenobi has no way to extricate himself from Dooku's control, and all three of the people in this room know it. Most of all, Dooku knows it… and he enjoys it. Battles like these—with worthy opponents—they're so satisfying to win. Profitable, too. Kenobi will be a valuable asset.

"No? Well, I suppose that if I wish to terminate your services, I'll notify you in the form of a lightsaber through Skywalker's heart. Naturally, I suggest that you accomplish things with a quality that meets my standards."

Kenobi takes a deep breath and holds it, shoulders back and proud, like a man who just refuses to seem broken, even in defeat. Yes, Dooku is sure he made the correct decision in sparing Kenobi. This man has such potential and, oddly, Dooku is proud of him. He is the only sort of family that Dooku has left, and while he'd kill him if circumstances came to that, he's more inclined to wish for his cooperation.

It's… not a family—Dooku has slipped too far into the dark side to have a proper one of those—but it is something oddly close to affection, and more naturally, pride over his legacy. Kenobi is a pretty piece of living history—a reminder of a time when Dooku had people to live for, and a time when he had people who would have died for _him_.

He cannot turn back time, but he can preserve it in this man.

Lightly, he lifts a hand and rests in on Kenobi's shoulder. The man hates it—that much is obvious in the disdainful way he glances at it, then back up at Dooku's face—but he tolerates it, letting Dooku hold him there, admiring just what he's won.

How strange that, though Kenobi loathes his presence, Dooku manages to not feel so alone. This man before him gives him memories—a connection to a life that, while he disagreed with, supplied him with people who cared for him. It was lighter there—happier—and while he can't go back—doesn't even want to—he lets himself see a pale reflection of it, like an image staring back at him from a lake.

This man is the remnants of his past, and for that, Dooku cares about his life.

It's a strange sensation. He hasn't cared about someone's well being—at least not other than his own—in a very long time.

"You leave tomorrow," he says, squeezing Kenobi's shoulder lightly, just once. "Say your good-byes. You have my word that, if you do a good job, he'll be here when you get back."

Kenobi just stares at him, lips pinching thin and angry, and eyes shimmering with resentment. Dooku keeps that stare for a few moments, taking it in, almost longing to ease it away like he sometimes did for a former young padawan. Not anymore, though. Those days are gone.

Letting his hand drop, he turns his back on Kenobi and Skywalker and makes his way toward the door. There is no noise from behind him. There is no noise at all beyond the sound of his boots echoing on the floor, the noise amplified by the lack of furniture. How empty.

That's what empty space will do. It's lonely, but it will make anything in it sound bigger, more significant. Perhaps that's why he's alone, he thinks as he closes the door behind him, keying the door locked and enclosing the men within as easily as he puts away the tiny sense of remembrance that still occasionally plagues him.

He has no regret about that. There is a time to remember, but _only_ at that time. He doesn't have the luxury of recalling like other men do.

And because of that he'll let the past rest in Kenobi, hidden until such a time as he wants to see it again.

For now, he has an Empire to run.

* * *

The Republic is in shambles.

It wasn't so visible at first, not when Obi-Wan had just stepped out of the Jedi Temple and into the bright sunshine with the purpose of making his way to the transport waiting for him on the landing platform. The hanger had been littered with ships and mechanics working on them—newly hired ones, he'd assume—and with droids rushing to pack the ships. Things were busy, efficient, and well run. It could have been just another mission.

Everything is just as it used to be, at least if he discounts the hush that's fallen on the city and the way the speeders and other transports seem to nearly veer out of their lanes in an attempt to keep as far away from the Temple as they can. He saw drivers of the speeders turn to study him, eyes narrowed and suspicious, as though they feared he intended to harm them. Hundred of feet below on the ground, there were even people stopping to stare at the Temple as if it had only recently been built—as if it hadn't been here for thousands of years.

Now, five hours into hyperspace, he still can't get the sights out of his mind.

He still has a large distance to go before he reaches his destination. He has time to take a nap, to sit back, take off his boots—to rest. Taking this time would be a good idea—he won't get much once he's actually in the field—but energy seems to turn in his insides until he imagines he can almost physically feel it pulsing. It's possible that he's actually _making _that true, even to the point where his heart is beating a little faster.

Whether the reason is physical or mental, his boots stay on, he remains at the controls, and no hint of sleep touches him. He's uncomfortable—he doesn't like the way this outfit falls on him. It's similar to a Jedi uniform, but there's no outer tunic, but only one with long sleeves and a belted waist, and then pants, rather than leggings. Even odder, it's all a dark brown. He doesn't feel like himself in it, but he has nothing else to change into, and he can't seem to make himself move anyway.

Instead, for hours on end, he just stares out the window, lost in his own thoughts.

Hyperspace is elegant in a way. The streaks of light wind and twist and flow past the ship like the oddest kind of river, never stopping, and dying off only when the ship chooses to pull out of it. It's all about choice, and, yet, when he looks at the blue streams, he doesn't feel that he could stop it anymore than he feels that he can stop the course of his own life.

He is going to a planet to make a deal for an organization he despises, for a man that he will never trust or like. Every inch of him—everything he has ever been or will be—protests that he can't do this, but he knows with absolute certainty that he _has _to. He has the choice _not _to, but the price of that choice will be far too high.

What does that make him? What he's doing now—he doesn't believe in it, but he's _doing _it, and don't his actions count more than his thoughts? Isn't he, in essence, the sum of what he does?

This person he's acting as—it's not a person he likes.

It's not someone he wants to be.

Dooku has found his exact weakness. Anything else, and he would refuse, but this is Anakin, and he can't quite accept that he should betray his former padawan for a cause that's already been defeated. Loyalty to that dead cause says he should, but logic disagrees.

What he's _feeling _disagrees.

The Republic is gone. Dooku has decimated it. The Jedi lie dead. Dooku has killed them. Everything Obi-Wan fought to preserve is gone, everything except a boy, now a man, and the hope that if they just stay alive, they can find a way to change this.

It sounds good, even in his mind. Everything about it is logical, but no matter what he thinks, he knows he's lying. His argument makes perfect sense—it's not that.

It's just that his motives have nothing to do with logic.

They have everything to do with his own weakness.

His weakness doesn't make his logic less valid, but he cannot deny that confusing the two in his own mind will bring him nothing but ill. As much as it hurts, he needs to be clear on why he's doing this. He can't lie to himself about this… and he's not. He knows exactly why he's doing what he's doing.

He doing this for all the wrong reasons.

And he still can't stop.

When he finally drops out of hyperspace at his destination he's still staring out a window, more tired than he was when he left, and more uncertain than he's ever been. Yet, he's never been more sure that he won't change what he's doing.

He just can't guarantee it won't destroy him in the end.


	15. Chapter 14

**Disclaimer: **I own nothing.

**Feedback**: If you'd be so kind as to leave some, I'll do my best to reply.

**Notes:** ROTS AU.

And enter… PADME! (Sorry it took so long)

* * *

Tosharino: Anakin does do his best to be good. And don't worry: Anakin is going to get his showdown with Dooku… eventually.

Marcus S. Lazarus: Thanks for noting the differences and similarities in regards to Dooku and Sidious. That took me awhile to lay out, and it's nice to know that someone was interested in it. And, as requested, here's an update on Obi-Wan's morally compromising position.

ThoseWereTheDays: That's not where this story is headed, but, you know, hearing that idea almost makes me want to go back and write an alternate direction for this story where things happen that way. I won't do it, but I really do like the idea.

yellow 14: Oh, I most definitely agree. I think unarmed combat is definitely a form of art. It's Dooku's character that doesn't—not me. And, yes, Obi-Wan did have a few moments, didn't he? Dooku is going to find that he's met someone who's his equal in verbal sparring.

Estora: If you've got something that overlaps with my stories, please, don't leave it out of your story just because I happened to get to it first. I won't think you're copying—a character still has the same characteristics regardless of whomever notes them first. It wouldn't be fair at all to ask someone to leave out chunks of a character just because they didn't get to them first. Also, maybe I will write a short vignette back story that involves the scene where Obi-Wan dangles Anakin upside down as a child. I rather like that idea. :) And interesting you should ask that question about Padme: that's a major part of this chapter.

anakinpadmekenobi: Funny you should mention Obi-Wan struggling with what he's done or feeling. That's going to play a very large roll, especially once Dooku pressures him into doing things that are very contrary to his character.

Pronker: Good point about Anakin. Obi-Wan isn't the only one who's going to be feeling guilty over this.

ObiBettina7: Matthew Stover did do a fantastic job with characterization, didn't he? I love his novelization of ROTS.

Maddie Rose: Haha, I'm glad you liked it. Also, I'm very sorry I haven't got around to reviewing your stories yet. I promise I'll get to it.

Torli: Obi-Wan isn't headed to Naboo, though I do really like that idea. And thanks so much for the kind words.

charliebrown1234: Good point. I always pictured the quarters as having the entrance open into a kitchen, which was separated from the living area by a wall. I'm anxious to see how they're depicted in Clone Wars Season 3, too.

* * *

Obi-Wan has been gone four days.

Four days, Anakin has been left in this apartment, all alone and forced to amuse himself. In some ways, it's comforting: it simply reinforces that Dooku has no interest in him beyond his importance to Obi-Wan. Oddly, while that _is _comforting, Anakin isn't soothed by it.

He actually more insulted.

But more than that, he's bored.

There's only so much holonet he can watch, and when a good portion of it is still people calling for his painful and drawn-out execution—about the only form of protest in the New Empire that Dooku is allowing—he finds he's not much inclined to spend his time in that venue. Meditation holds some value, but he's never liked to sit still, and after a few hours, he finds he's reached his limit. And, truly, there's only so much sleeping a man can do—he knows since he's tried to do that as much as possible lately.

Though he would never admit it to Obi-Wan, he actually sleeps most of the time in his master's bed. His own bed is fine—there's really no difference except that Obi-Wan's is a bit bigger—but there's something about feeling his master's Force-signature lingering around him as he sleeps that's vaguely comforting. He always has liked it. In fact, when he was smaller, he used to sometimes steal Obi-Wan's cloak under the guise of wanting it for extra warmth, which while he did enjoy—he always seems to be cold—he really wanted more for the benefit of the reassuring signature that hung on it, and maybe even for the familiar scent.

He's too old for that now… which is why he'd never admit that he sleeps in Obi-Wan's bed while he's gone. He's too old for that too, obviously.

"You better come back," he mumbles into Obi-Wan's pillow. "I can't take Dooku alone either, and if you made me leave my wife on Geonosis because you knew _you_ couldn't, you better deliver on turnabout!"

And Obi-Wan will. Because he's Obi-Wan.

The question is, how are they going to get that chance?

Dooku is good. He's good beyond most anyone that Anakin has ever seen. What had Yoda called him? One of the Order's most promising students, and also one of its greatest failures? Was that it? It was something like that, even if, knowing Yoda, the sentences were probably inverted. It sums up Dooku nicely, anyway.

Anyhow, he's got Anakin beat in just about every way Anakin can see right now. So, the key becomes finding ways he doesn't see. It's never as pleasant to make his way in the dark, but sometimes it _is _necessary, and he's certainly never backed down from a challenge. Plus, Dooku doesn't think he can do this—doesn't think he can get him and Obi-Wan out of this. Maybe he can't. Maybe Dooku's right.

But one thing Obi-Wan has taught him is that the overlooked is very often underestimated.

Dooku thinks he's a loose cannon who can't control his emotions long enough to harness his ability.

So, Anakin will prove him wrong.

What better way to do that than by being his downfall?

He doesn't have a full plan yet… but he will. Given a little time and some better intelligence than they have now, it's possible. All it's going to take is a little creativity.

So, time to get creative.

Though he's slept in Obi-Wan's room for the past few days, he hasn't moved his things. There are still spare boots in the closet, an array of Jedi robes hanging up, papers and writing utensils on a meticulously clean desk, and a filing cabinet of past mission reports. If he looks, Anakin knows he'll also find a box of Qui-Gon's old things under Obi-Wan's bed, probably right alongside another box of old photos. The room is entirely predictable, and Obi-Wan hasn't changed it around since Anakin moved in with him. It's the same way it was when he took it over from Qui-Gon, with the exception of Obi-Wan's personal effects replacing those of his late master.

While all of that familiarity goes a long way in making Anakin feel a bit more at ease in a difficult situation, none of it will practically help him. Nothing that's here right now will be able to—not as it is right now. Dooku had the rooms removed of anything potentially dangerous when he let them move back in.

Of course, he apparently didn't consider Obi-Wan's datapad to be dangerous.

The holovid player is still here, too, so it must have also passed inspection.

All of the droids Anakin was tinkering with are gone, and while that's a bit of a setback, the fact that the heating unit is still here could be helpful.

Hopefully, Obi-Wan isn't going to be irritated by the fact that Anakin is about to destroy everything mechanical in their apartment. Frankly, having an excuse not to watch the holonet will probably be a relief, but he might be a little less enthusiastic about losing all the information on his datapad. Still, sacrifices have to be made, and Obi-Wan will just have to get over the disappointment of no longer being able to spend his leisure time using his datapad to read about the irrigation systems on some faraway desert planet.

Snatching Obi-Wan's datapad off his desk, Anakin sits down and begins working.

* * *

Padme Amidala hates the rain.

It pools in her shoes and soaks through to her skin until she's shivering and the skin of her toes is wrinkled from the dampness. Worst of all is how it takes hours afterward for her to feel warm again. What she wouldn't give for a warm drink, a thick blanket, and a heated building right now.

It hardly ever rains on Fondor. The planet is either mostly desert or wasteland, with a multitude of urban areas, but almost as if the weather knew she was coming, it decided to defy typicality and pour.

That's fine. It's been raining for days, anyway.

Not literally, of course. She's experienced meteorological sunshine as of late. What she hasn't encountered is the sort of sunshine that penetrates the dark, downcast areas inside of her—the hopeless parts whispering that maybe this isn't going to end, that Anakin is dead, and that she's never going to see him again. Those bits haven't seen light for days.

Pulling her hood more tightly around her face, Padme glances up at the neon sign that's spilling light onto her path. It's a gaudy glow, cheap, and jarringly abrasive. The luminance even seems a bit dirty, mingling with the grime on the streets that's catching on her boots until said grime takes on an unnatural and poisonous looking shade of color.

This isn't a good part of town. Here, half the population is hooked on death sticks, and the ones that are still coherent unendingly seek to imitate the trends of the lower levels on Coruscant. Everything about this is an imitation of Coruscant's underworld. Cheap. Quick fixes and momentary gratification. She's never seen the appeal of that herself. The world is still the same when you sober up. She'd prefer to spend her time changing what she doesn't like rather than trying to forget about it.

Which, of course, is why she's here.

Heading toward the door beneath the sign, Padme ducks inside the building, hood still drawn tightly around her face. No one gives her a second glance. Here, there are two types of people: those who don't want to be recognized, or those who can't expose enough flesh. There's no middle ground, and she fits nicely with the first group.

She paid good money for the information that led her here. Part of it, she has to admit, is nothing more than pure luck: there was a mechanic in the Jedi Temple that Dooku apparently didn't consider threatening enough to kill. In fact, the only reason he'd survived in the first place was that he'd been home with his family the night Order 66 was issued. Then, there was also that man's chance sighting of a passenger, and the fact that he was still loyal enough to the Jedi Order to be willing to smuggle information out to the rebellion that's only just beginning to form.

From there, they'd determined the destination of that sighted passenger's ship. Padme had gone to meet it, always staying a step behind, hidden in the shadows and the unsavory undercurrents of this planet. She'd followed the occupant… followed him here.

It's an interesting place for a meeting, though logical, in some odd way. In a place like this, everyone who's still conscious enough to potentially hear anything will be deafened by the music. There's no chance of calling any sort of higher authority—unless it's an organized crime ring—because nine out of ten people here are probably dodging the law anyway. Of course, the downside is that the place is a bit of a nightmare in the sense that it's very easy for a potential attacker to blend in and disguise his presence, so she'll have to assume that the man she's trailing doesn't anticipate an attack.

A back room deal, then. Interesting.

What in the name of the Force could he be negotiating _here_?

Getting him out of the room isn't difficult. It might be if she were trying to do it subtly and without detection like a normal assassin would. For most people, this would be a difficult situation: shoot the guards and she'll broadcast her presence to the people in the room. Then, the people she would ultimately be trying to kill will be alert when she tries to kill _them_.

Luckily, she's not looking to actually kill anyone in that room.

She just wants to make her presence known.

Reaching under her cloak, Padme closes her fingers around her blaster. There are grooves worn into the handle of it, just slightly, but the familiarity is comforting, like a trusted friend. Inanimate or not, she needs all the support she can get since the world has gone mad.

The guards posted at the door of the room are likely corrupt men. No one respectable holds a job in an establishment like this. In every way that counts, they probably deserve to die… but that's not for her to decide.

She shoots one in the knee, and then the next just slightly above there, in the thigh. Pity, she'd hoped to hit the same place on both of them. She'll have to brush up on her shot: a moving target is no excuse to miss, even if it's just by a few inches.

Maybe later. For now, she's got more important things to deal with. Trivial things like the hush in the club, then the explosion of noise, the slamming of the door as the man she's tracking bursts out of the back room—even the sounds of the guards as they grunt with pain.

Time to run.

But first, to make a point.

Aiming her blaster, she purposely shoots wide of the man framed in the doorway. The shot scorches the wall, and he ducks to the side, shoulder dipping down with the practice of a man who's been shot at many, many times before. Even the way he keeps his eyes on her the whole time, refusing to lose her in the crowd, speaks of practice.

She turns and sprints for the door.

No one tries to stop her. In a place like this, everyone's first instinct is to protect himself, and interfering in a fight between two armed people is the furthest thing from self-preservation.

She makes it out the door, the man still close behind her. She can hear his feet slamming onto the duracrete, probably collecting as much filth as her own boots have. Rain whips her in the face, trickling through her hair and down the back of her neck, but she doesn't have the time to brush the messy strands away. She can't let him know whom he's perusing. Not yet. Not for his own safety. She needs to give him a credible alibi.

She sends a man flying in her haste to get by him, and while she feels a bit bad, she keeps running. She takes the first back street she sees, disappearing into the shadows. He disappears with her. If she were really trying to escape, she imagines she'd be in trouble—he's good. Every bit as good as she knew he was, as Anakin told her he was, and as good as he was when she first met him—better now, actually.

Oddly, there's no sound of a lightsaber igniting. She half expected there to be. Does he have one? If not, what happened to it? What has happened to _him_?

An abandoned warehouse looms ahead, one of the windows broken. It's probably a haven for drug deals, but right now, it will serve her purpose just fine. Getting in might hurt a little since she doesn't have the time to carefully navigate around the broken glass.

It does. A shard catches in her arm as she jumps through the window, and she grimaces, trying to ignore the searing pain that bolts up through her skin. Well, she was complaining about being cold: the dripping blood is going to warm her arm at least. She'll concentrate on the small good, no matter how morbid.

Besides, this chase is over anyway.

"There's nowhere else to go!" he calls from behind her.

There's nowhere else she'd _like _to go. Truthfully, she wants nothing more than to just move forward and embrace this man, because seeing him alive—it gives her hope. He's her friend… and, just as importantly, Anakin was with him. He has to know something, and every night since Order 66, all she could think about was getting information on where her husband was. She needs to see him… and if he's dead, she needs to see the body.

His hand flashes down to his hip, and now she expects the glow of a lightsaber, but instead all she's met with is the barrel of a blaster. No lightsaber, then. That's so unlike him. What's happened?

"Nowhere to go but up from here," she says simply. "It's like that when you've hit bottom."

His hand flexes on the blaster, and if she looks hard, she can just barely see the shaking in his arm. Not enough to affect any shot he takes… but he's not going to shoot. He's not going to do anything beside what he's doing—beside putting the blaster back on his belt and moving forward, doing what she wanted to do a few moments before.

She sinks into the embrace he offers and pretends she doesn't still feel chilled—that her worry hasn't increased at the fact that he's hugging her like a man who has lost too many people he cares about, and who feared she'd just be one more.

"Padme, what are you doing?" he whispers, still holding her. He's shaking. Just a little, but it calms her, oddly enough, because it proves he's human. It proves he's just as worried as she is… and if he's worried, he still has something to be worried about.

And there's only one thing that could cause Obi-Wan Kenobi to worry this much.

"Tracking you, obviously."

"Yes," he replies wryly. Then, he just laughs, stepping back away from her and running a hand through his hair. It's more untidy than usual, and his beard isn't quite as trimmed. He must be finding this job particularly unpleasant if he's forgoing his usual meticulous upkeep in what's probably an effort to use every spare moment to get it done faster. "You shot at me."

She shrugs, one hand clutching the wound on her arm. She can feel her blood seeping against her fingers, sticky and thick. Once, it might have made her nauseous. Not anymore. She's seen too much for that now.

"I missed."

"On purpose, I should hope."

She feels herself smile. "Of course."

A drop of blood seeps through her fingers and falls, spattering across the floor. Naturally, her eyes are drawn to it, to how it looks almost black in the moonlight that's trickling in through the window, offering their only illumination.

Obi-Wan notices. "Sit," he says simply, already reaching into his belt. A Jedi could live for weeks just on what's in his belt, she's pretty sure. She used to tease Anakin about that sometimes.

There's no point in turning down his help—he's probably far better at healing than she is—and so she sinks to the ground on the spot, letting him kneel in front of her and take her arm in his hands. He has gentle hands, but still strong—the kind she'd trust to hold things together. "It's deep."

"It was worth it."

"You could have stopped outside the warehouse."

"And let anyone who happened to walk by witness this? You know better, Obi-Wan."

A small, sad smile twists his lips, and she's suddenly struck by the urge to just reach out and pull him back in against her and rock him until he lets out the hurt she can see flickering just under the surface. Is anyone ever there for this man anymore? Has anyone taken care of _him_ since Qui-Gon died? He always seems so strong, but she knows better than anyone how sometimes, when you're a leader, all you really want is for someone to catch _you _when you fall. You catch everyone else. You don't want to have to support yourself, too.

No one, she suspects, has been that person for this man in a very long time.

"It was a good ruse," he says after a moment, fingers pressing a bit of gauze against the wound. Then, carefully, he begins to wrap it, looping the dressing around carefully. "It will look convincing because I truly _was _convinced. I know the guards certainly were."

She nods and grins, hiding her flinch at the small stabs of pain shooting up her arm. "And if they doubt their own testimony I'm sure they'll remember when they get those blaster shots treated."

"Clever."

Yes, but none of that is what she truly wants to hear from Obi-Wan. What she craves—the need that's been eating her from the inside out since Order 66—is something rawer, and she can't wait to ask anymore. She should. Obi-Wan is an intelligent man—if she immediately asks what she wants, he'll know why she wants the information so badly… but she _has _to know.

"Is Anakin alive?" she asks slowly, raising her gaze from where it's settled on the mess of blood and gauze and Obi-Wan's hands fixing it all. Oddly, she finds no shock on his face. Nothing, really, beyond tiredness and a small measure of relief.

Before he even speaks, she relaxes.

"Yes."

Yes. Oh, yes. _Yes_. She's never heard anything so beautiful. Anakin's alive—_alive_—and her shoulders slump forward weakly in relief. She can feel tears threatening, stinging at the edges of her eyes. _Anakin is alive. _"Where is he?"

"On Coruscant."

"And why aren't you there with him?" Not an accusation, but rather a simple inquiry, because she knows he'd never leave Anakin if he didn't have to.

"Because," he replies, voice suddenly painted with disdain, "Dooku sent me here to negotiate a deal with the man you saw me in the company of. Apparently, while he's not a political figure in any official capacity, he _does _hold more money and stock in this planet than any actual politician. And power so often lies with who has the most money."

"I would think he'd stand to gain from Dooku's occupation."

"Not necessarily. He had a lot of Senators on his payroll. And if the Senate falls, so does his power."

She watches him tie off the bandage on her arm. "Then what can you possibly offer him?"

"As it turns out, he also had connections to the banking clan. So while he didn't want the Republic to fall, he had no reservations about playing both sides for a profit. Now, it's just a matter of convincing him that it would be more… _profitable_ to cast his loyalties entirely with Dooku."

"Are you're offering him a higher position in the banking clan?"

He doesn't look pleased at the prospect, but he does nod. "Dooku has the banking clan in his pocket, and he's 'convinced' them to allow me to do so. He may be corrupt, but he's good at what he does, and that's really all Dooku cares about. More importantly, if he throws his support in with Dooku, most of the factions on this planet will do so as well."

That makes perfect sense, but what doesn't is the idea that Obi-Wan Kenobi is trying to negotiate a deal of that nature. He's not a traitor. He wouldn't work against the Republic. He would never do this for profit, but something has pushed him to this point—

"I haven't changed my loyalties, Senator."

Padme startles, jerking back slightly. Her fingers go to the bandage, and he gently releases her arm with a sad smile and lets her pull back.

"This isn't what I _want _to do."

"Then why are you doing it?" She knows this man. He'd rather die then help Dooku. He already made that choice back on Geonosis. Clearly, it's not about saving his own life.

Another melancholy smile, though this one bitter and oddly twisted. "Truly, Padme, I think you would understand my reasoning better than anyone else."

The Republic is fallen, but he still would never cast his loyalties in with Dooku. She knows this, just as surely as she knows she would make the same choice. She would die before she helped Dooku, just as he would.

And, just like Obi-Wan, nothing could make her do otherwise.

Except for one thing.

"Oh, Force," she whispers. It's almost an involuntary reaction to curl her knees up to her chin, to bury her head in them as she's rocked by the nauseating realization. Anakin. Her husband, her Ani.

"He's alive, Padme. And he'll stay that way."

She doesn't raise her head from her knees. "As long as you give Dooku what he wants."

"Would you have me refuse?"

Her hands go to her hair, clenching, twisting, until she feels several strands part company with her scalp. "No—I—the Republic has fallen anyway, and you're stopping more violence. Saving lives. That's good. It's just—it's _Dooku_."

"Yes," he says quietly. "It is."

"Obi-Wan—Anakin and I—"

He sinks down, coming to rest beside her. Gently, he slips his fingers over hers, pulling them out of her hair, ignoring the strands that trail with them. "I know, Padme. That you're married. I don't necessarily approve… but Anakin is—he's—"

"You love him," she says simply.

"I raised him."

"It's not always the same thing."

He pauses, and in the moonlight his face looks haunted. Maybe it's not the moonlight making it look that way. "I couldn't help loving him. He was just a child, and Anakin—you know him. He's demanding, and he just demanded to be loved… and I gave in, because, because…"

"Because he's your child."

Obi-Wan closes his eyes. He looks younger like that, tired. "Yes."

"That's just what it is to be a parent, Obi-Wan. A good one. There's no shame in it."

"When you're a Jedi there is."

"And have the Jedi ever been wrong?"

He drops her hands and sighs, staring off at nothing. "Look what I'm doing, Padme. Does this seem good to you?"

No. It doesn't. But a life without love—that seems just as terrible. Worse, even. It's what Dooku has. "Something has to separate us from our enemies, Obi-Wan, even if that very thing is what gives our enemies a hold over us."

He hardly moves. "It doesn't matter. I can't change it."

Again, she's struck with the urge to reach out and hold him. Someone ought to. He's been too strong for too long, part of an Order that condemns the very emotions that he can't let go of. In many ways he's the perfect Jedi, but in this, he is so entirely human. He just can't see how beautiful that is.

She shouldn't be angry at the Order. They do a lot of good… but looking at Obi-Wan now, castigating himself for feeling things that are only natural—she can't quite suppress her anger, at least not entirely. The Jedi should have been there to help him through the things he was feeling—not shame him into denying the emotions existed at all.

Obi-Wan Kenobi has seen a father killed. He's raised a small child. He's been given more than his fair share of heartache and pain—and joy—from that child, he's fought in a bloody war, and now he's watched his entire world fall apart. He's given so much for so long, and since his master died, no one has been there to pick up the pieces for him.

And she's angry about that.

"I think, maybe, that's a blessing."

"That I can't change my faults?"

"I don't believe they're faults to begin with."

"I don't want to talk about this."

No, she supposes not—but he _should _talk. When was the last time someone looked him in the face and told him that? Obi-Wan Kenobi is good, but he's not the Force itself: he can't expect to be able to handle everything… and he needs someone to remind him of that in a way that she suspects no one has been able to successfully do since Qui-Gon died.

But now is not the time or the place to hash that out. "Then let's talk about what we're going to do."

"Are you part of the underground resistance?" he asks, running a hand over his beard thoughtfully. This is more like the man she knows: he hits his stride when he has something to plan, something to concentrate on beyond himself.

"What makes you think there is one?"

He just raises an eyebrow. "If there wasn't, you'd have started one."

"I think it's better if I don't give you details. It's not that I think you'd willingly give anything away, but what you don't know, you can't even be tempted to tell."

"Wise," he agrees, nodding.

"What about Anakin? What's he doing?"

"Haven't you watched the holonet in the last few days?"

Oh, yes. She's made a nice cup of caf, put on her slippers, and curled up for a news broadcast.

Force, she must be more tired than she thought if she's taking out her irritation—if only mentally—on Obi-Wan.

This isn't his fault. He's one of the few people left that she can truly trust. "You mean, have I heard about Anakin's character assassination?"

"Have you?"

Of course she has. It's all anyone is talking about on the streets: the Republic fell because of Anakin Skywalker. Her husband is literally the most hated man in existence at the moment. He's even pulled ahead of Dooku in that category, which is quite a feat.

"It's hard to hear about anything else," she mutters. "I just… I worried that he might have been killed since then. That would be very like Dooku: destroy his reputation and then murder him before he ever got the chance to vindicate himself."

"And the murder of the sand people? How do you purpose he vindicates himself from _that_?"

Padme Amidala is a senator. She's never at a loss for words. Never. Except now. Now, her mouth feels terribly gummy, and her brain seems to have shorted out. It's all blank.

She's lost in pure shock.

How did Obi-Wan know? Anakin wouldn't have told him. Sometimes, she'd wished he would, but he never did, and she ultimately understood why. He always wanted Obi-Wan's approval, and if he'd told—he'd never been quite sure of what his master would do.

Her fingers slink up to her mouth, covering it as she fights for breath. This can't be happening. It can't.

The prospect shouldn't horrify her so much in light of everything else that's happened, but this—it's _true_. What Anakin did is not a fictionalized account, and losing Obi-Wan to that truth would destroy him more than any galaxy-wide smear of his character ever could.

Obi-Wan doesn't do that. There's no anger. No hatred, and maybe if she were thinking clearly, she'd realize that his continued presence on this mission is proof that he's already decided to stand by Anakin.

Of course, that doesn't mean that what he knows isn't eating him alive.

It's disconcerting to watch Obi-Wan prop his elbows on his knees and cradle his head in his hands. It's not a loss of control, but it's closer than she's ever seen him, and that's, not bad, exactly—he shouldn't have to keep himself so firmly together all the time—but a little strange to watch. It would be like hearing Yoda use proper grammar or watching Mace Windu smile and sing: it just doesn't happen.

"Padme, the idea of him striking down living beings like that—of him doing that in anger and with the dark side—horrifies me. It does. But I still don't see that when I look at him. I can't see the dark side in him, and I'm afraid that I'll miss something I need to notice. I'm afraid he'll slip when I could have caught him if I'd just _seen _that he was falling. But I don't want to see it. That means admitting that it's real… and I care for him too much to want it to be."

Yes. She knows the feeling.

"Oh, Obi-Wan," she murmurs, breathing out and, just for a moment, not drawing any breath back in. She stays like that until her lungs begin to burn, but she still doesn't have any easy answer. "You can't be perfect, Obi-Wan. Anakin—have a little faith in Anakin. He's a good man. You know that."

"Good men can still fall, Padme."

"Have faith that he won't."

"I'm afraid that faith is blind."

"Then make it _see_."

He just sits there, head still in his hands, breathing slow and steady, shoulders slumped. How long has it been since he's slept? Or, probably more importantly, since he's had conformation that Anakin is still unharmed? Worry like that will eat at a person.

"Have faith in him. Not blind faith. Just faith: correct his faults, but still believe the best for him. And let him _know _that's what you believe he's capable of. Sometimes, just knowing people believe you can attain something is enough to make you want to prove them right."

Obi-Wan Kenobi feels—as intensely as anyone she's ever met—but he won't say that. He'll never say that. Obi-Wan isn't good at talking, and Anakin isn't good at asking for the verbal confirmation that he needs. Neither of them gets what they want or need, and all it does is foment secrets and regrets.

Anakin doesn't know Obi-Wan trusts him—not to the extent that Padme is certain Obi-Wan _does_—because Obi-Wan has never doubted that Anakin knows, and so he's never told him.

It would be laughable if it wasn't so damaging.

"Now isn't the time to talk about this," he says finally. "I need to be getting back. They'll know something's wrong if I'm gone too long."

"I—yes, they will." She doesn't want him to leave. She might not see him again if he does.

"Do you have a contact in the Temple?"

She nods. "I won't tell you who, though."

"Better that you don't."

"Yes." She's not sure that's true, but it's going to have to be. She doesn't believe Obi-Wan will give them away, but she knows _he_ worries that he will, especially if it comes down to Anakin's life. He's more comfortable not having the information at all. "When you next leave the Temple, I'll find you."

His mouth twists, pulling the skin of his cheeks taunt over the bone. "I don't think there's much I can do for you."

"You can tell me about Anakin. And you just never know, Obi-Wan. I think you underestimate yourself."

"Perhaps." He doesn't sound like he believes it anymore than he believes in much else right now. Still, he gets to his feet, slowly, with age that he physically doesn't yet possess. War will do that. "Until then, I suppose."

Again, he looks her in the face, eyes dark and sad, but still alert. Then he turns, intending to head back the way he came in.

She catches his arm.

"Obi-Wan?"

He stops, but she doesn't let go.

"What is it, Padme?" he asks, shifting his weight back toward her, letting the tension her hold has on him go slack between them. Still, she keeps her fingers twined in the rough material of his shirt—not that of a Jedi, but similar—feeling anchored in the realness that touch brings.

"You're going to be a grandmaster."

A look of pure confusion flickers over his face. "I know Yoda is dead, Padme, but I very much doubt that the Jedi Council is going to get the chance to appoint someone to take his place in the near future, and even if they did, I don't believe I would be that appointee."

"Not… that sort of grandmaster."

How can she explain? She can hardly form the words in her own head. The now of it—the horrible, horrible timing, but still the fact that she _wants _this anyway, terrible circumstances or not, is impossible to rationalize. She can't explain that. She can't explain any of this.

Bereft of any verbal inspiration, she gives her stomach a pointed look.

Obi-Wan doesn't visibly react. He just stares, blank, as though he can't comprehend what he's just heard. Then, slowly, he takes a deep breath, and with the utmost rationality, he clearly replies, "You _must _be joking." Everything about the statement is logical, like he thinks that _has _to be the truth.

She just shakes her head.

That's when he lets the realization rock him.

"How far along?" he asks, teetering backward, catching his weight on his back foot. His hand has gone up to cover his mouth, but she picks up the words anyway.

"Not far. Just before you and Anakin were deployed to the Outer Rim."

"A few months, then?"

"About," she says with a small shrug. "Anakin doesn't know."

"And do you want me to tell him?"

"Yes."

He doesn't look as though he's particularly looking forward to that. She can't blame him. In all honesty, she's frankly a little relieved that she won't be the one to break the news. Cowardly? Maybe, but also very convenient.

Of course, not so much for Obi-Wan.

"What could the two of you possibly have been thinking?" he snaps.

The situation's less than pleasant, yes, but she can still find the effort to be irritated at how he turns away, as if he can't quite bare to look at her. Every muscle in his back is taut—she can see the stress painted clearly on his body, but she's not willing to let him go. Not yet.

"Maybe you don't know, Obi-Wan, but there's not much thinking involved." Immediately, she regrets that. It wasn't called for. "I'm sorry," she adds softly, taking a chance and closing the distance between them until she's close enough to lay a hand on his shoulder.

He doesn't relax under the gesture that's meant to be comforting; he simply tips his head back, staring up at the ceiling of the warehouse above them as he slowly shakes his head. "No. I shouldn't have said that. Anyhow, it doesn't matter how it happened."

"I think it does. We both know you're going to be involved. You have a right to an explanation."

"Thank you," he replies stiffly, "but I'd prefer that you left out the details."

She can't help but grin. It might be worth it to watch him blush. "I wasn't referring to _those _details."

"And so one thing in my day finally goes right."

"Well, small victories are still victories, I suppose."

Now, finally, he turns around, surprising her by raising his hands to cup her elbows. His touch is gentle, careful, but firm. He's always unyielding, never weak, but in a way that draws people to him. He cares. He does. He just doesn't wear his emotions for the world to see like Anakin does.

"Will you be able to get back all right?"

Of course. That's what her blaster is for. "I'll be fine, Obi-Wan. Just make sure Anakin is too."

"I will."

Even with the world crumbling around them, she can't help but believe him. She needs that, badly. "I know," she murmurs, leaning forward and embracing him just once more before she lets go and walks past him toward the exit. "I know you will."

It's what he's always done.

She just hopes he'll take care of himself, too.


	16. Chapter 15

**Disclaimer: **I own nothing.

**Feedback**: If you'd be so kind as to leave some, I'll do my best to reply.

**Notes:** ROTS AU.

* * *

Ethos: Good point. I was kind of taking it as a given that Padme would understand that Dooku was capable of that and would have used it as an alternative if he couldn't force cooperation, but thinking about it now, maybe I should have had Obi-Wan make that a little more obvious.

Mo Angel: Aw, thank you!

Tosharino: Anakin does do his best to be good. And don't worry: Anakin is going to get his showdown with Dooku… eventually.

yellow 14: Very true. Obi-Wan shouldn't be overlooked.

anakinpadmekenobi: Haha, I'd forgotten about that part in Labyrinth of Evil! Hmm, and, yes, that line is a bit foreboding isn't it?

Pronker: Hmm, I never thought about it much from the prospective of Obi-Wan seeing Anakin moving on with his life. I was more seeing it from the angle of him being shocked that Padme is pregnant with Anakin's child (which, given his views on attachment, is shocking enough), and at such an inopportune time.

ObiBettina7: I have to say, I really do love Padme's character. I see her as a very strong female character who maintains her strength while still keeping her femininity.

Maddie Rose: I think the Jedi are a pretty interesting bunch.

Jedi Angel001: They do both love Anakin, and, yes, Skywalker/Kenobi just might have a chance at besting Dooku.

delightfully-so: I wouldn't count on any turnarounds just yet.

Skedaddle-San: Thank you!

Morfiel: No chance whatsoever. I actually get that question a lot, but to be honest, I don't view their relationship that way at all: the movies characterize them as being very close, but I don't think that automatically indicates some sort of sexual tension. I think that the bond they share as sort of father/son/brothers can be every bit as beautiful and complex as any romantic relationship.

imagination theater: I really enjoy the Padme/Obi-Wan friendship. They're both two fascinating, complex characters, and I would have liked to see the movies explore their friendship a bit more. And I'm with you—in a lot of fanfiction, I really don't like Padme. She's either really unkind or really weak. I do my best to avoid that.

XxRandom NemesisxX: Well, I don't know that he'll be able to escape, but he might be able to do some damage.

* * *

Obi-Wan comes home two weeks after he left.

One look at him, and Anakin knows he probably hasn't eaten in a few days, much less gotten any decent amount of sleep. He looks awful, like he did sometimes after a battle had stretched on for days. Obi-Wan will do that to himself: he'll become so focused on getting a job done that he'll utterly neglect even his most basic needs.

"You need a shower," Anakin says simply.

A tiny smirk raises the edge of his mouth. "No 'hello'? Just an untactful comment about how I'm offending your delicate sense of smell?"

He reaches out and grabs Obi-Wan's sleeve, pulling him toward the 'fresher. "I didn't say that. I was nicer about it than that."

"You were thinking it."

"And I'm also thinking that I've seen corpses look better than you do. Clean up. I'll make dinner."

"Anakin, the last time you tried to make dinner, you nearly blew up the—"

Yes, well, no need to rehash that story. It was embarrassing enough the first time. "I was fourteen."

"And the fact that you haven't cooked since then—"

He shoves Obi-Wan through the refresher door. Any resistance Obi-Wan puts up—and there's hardly any beyond a put-upon sigh—is merely token. After two weeks of doing Force-knows-what he's in no condition to put up a fight about something he doesn't care much about in the first place. He'll let Anakin win this.

Anakin shuts the door behind Obi-Wan and heads back down the hallway.

When his master immerges a half hour later, looking far more well groomed, he can't help the tiny bit of relief that sneaks its way up his spine. Obi-Wan just looks more like _Obi-Wan_ when he's like that, and the familiarity is soothing…

…as is the way Obi-Wan just sighs when he sees Anakin burning the Giju Stew and then reaches out to take over the cooking. "It was an appreciated try," he says gently, clapping Anakin on the shoulder, though Anakin suspects that's more of an affectionate way to tactfully steer him away from the stove than it is anything else.

"I like it better when you cook anyway," he admits with a grin, letting Obi-Wan move him aside. At least if Obi-Wan cooks, it will be edible. His master is a good cook, probably by necessity. Anakin never much liked the cafeteria until he made friends, which took a while. For the first year or so that he lived on Coruscant, he ate a lot of meals alone with Obi-Wan in their apartment.

"Yes, and my stomach thanks you."

Muttering under his breath in Huttese is juvenile, but it feels good, and it's only teasing anyway. More than likely, Obi-Wan knows what he's saying… he must, because he's muttering something back in Nelvaanese. Someday, Anakin is going to learn that language completely, just to spite his master.

The silence that falls between them is comfortable at first, more of a privilege of being back in each other's presence than a true silence. The Force is humming happily around them, and neither of them is considering anything more than dinner.

Neither of them wants to.

Anakin just sinks down at the table and watches Obi-Wan cook. Watching him—it's nice, like it was when he was young. Right now, he could be a youngling again, with his master making dinner, homework waiting in his room, and a million trivial things on his mind while the scent of food drifts around him. For just a few moments, this feels like home again.

The illusion shatters for no greater reason than he can't let himself believe that too completely.

It will hurt too much when he tumbles back into reality.

Unsurprisingly, Obi-Wan senses the sudden shift. He says nothing about it, but only glances casually over his shoulder, running his gaze over Anakin appraisingly, like he used to do when Anakin was younger and he was attempting to figure out what was upsetting him.

"Anything noteworthy these past few weeks?"

"Dooku hasn't been here if that's what you're asking."

"And what have you been doing?"

"Thinking."

"Good. That gives me hope that miracles still occur."

Flicking his hand, he hits Obi-Wan with a light Force-push. Hopefully, the fact that it's an unnecessary use of the Force will annoy his master more than the hit itself—physically, it's not enough to move Obi-Wan more than a few inches.

He just receives a half-lidded glare.

"You deserved it."

"Don't forget who's cooking."

"You have to eat it too. I know you won't poison it."

A tiny snicker slips it's way past his mouth when he's fixed with Obi-Wan's tight-lipped irritation, which isn't really irritation at all—no one who looks so much like they're about to laugh can possibly be truly irritated.

"I did something while you were gone," he says simply after a moment, pushing his cheek into his palm and propping his elbow up on the table.

Obi-Wan turns the heat off and nods toward the cupboard, indicating that he wants Anakin to get the dishes. "And that was?" he asks as he leans casually against the counter while Anakin pulls down some bowls.

"Ah, well, let's just say you're not going to be watching the holonet anymore… or doing any reading."

As soon as Obi-Wan takes the bowls from him, Anakin turns back away, getting the rest of the silverware. It's a relief to have something to do—something to keep him from having to look at Obi-Wan when he admits that he destroyed his datapad. Really, Obi-Wan was far too attached to that thing and the mind-numbingly boring information that was on it. Anakin did him a favor. He's just preventing attachment to useless objects. It's a service to the galaxy at large, as anyone who's had to listen to one of Obi-Wan's boring lectures on methods of intergalactic negotiation and peacekeeping will attest.

Judging from Obi-Wan's very put-upon sigh, he does not seem to agree. "What did you do, Anakin?"

"I, well, I may have… _reconfigured _your datapad… and the holovid projector… and the secondary heating unit."

Another sound, this one what he assumes to be Obi-Wan looking over at the secondary heating unit. "It still looks all right."

"Yeah, uh, it would, unless you tried to heat something up with it… at which point you'd find there aren't actually any working mechanics left inside of it."

Was that noise Obi-Wan pressing his hand to his forehead hard enough to classify as a slap? That's just too good to miss, and he turns back around, hoping. Yup, it was. How amusing—it's a bit of a childish gesture, and that's always fun when it's _Obi-Wan_. He's too dignified for his own good.

"Dare I ask what you mean when you say you 'reconfigured' my datapad?"

"It's not like you don't have all the stuff on it memorized—"

"_Anakin_—"

"Look, it was for a good cause! I needed the parts!"

"You _needed the parts_?" he asks through clenched teeth. His grip on the bowls of soup as he sets them on the table is just a little too tight. White knuckles are never a good sign where Obi-Wan is concerned. He can almost visibly see his master's blood pressure rising.

"Yeah."

Carefully, he sets the silverware down next to the bowls and goes to pour the drinks. Obi-Wan's not moving. He's just staring after Anakin, glaring daggers, though he somehow manages to make that seem not quite deadly. Apparently, he's withholding judgment akin to murder until he finds out Anakin's reasoning.

It's at least a little comforting to know that Obi-Wan can't assign him to Temple kitchen duty anymore… or report him to the council. That may be the only good outcome of Dooku's takeover.

"And _why _did you need the parts?"

"Look, before you actually get upset—"

"I'm not upset," he grits out as an angry red flush begins to rise on his cheeks.

"—just hear me out. I made a listening device. It's small. Really small, but I needed some of the finer circuitry that was in the other machines… including your datapad."

Obi-Wan still looks annoyed, but there's at least a drop of interest visible now. "What did you need a listening device for?"

Anakin finishes pouring the drinks and they both sit down at the table. Taking a moment to sample the soup before he explains—a good decision, since it's tasty and he hasn't had anything that's not packaged since Obi-Wan left—Anakin just tolerates Obi-Wan's expectant stare. "Look," he begins once he's swallowed, "I was thinking that if we could somehow slip it onto the esteemed Count, we might be able to figure out some of what he's planning."

There's definite interest in Obi-Wan's countenance now, raising Anakin's hopes that he'll be forgiven for the datapad. "And then? What could we do with that information?"

"Obi-Wan, don't tell me you didn't do anything that's now considered illegal or forbidden on this last mission."

Anakin doesn't quite like the odd little smile Obi-Wan gives to nothing in particular. Something's prompting that—though he doesn't quite seem to find it truly funny—and he reaches out to rub a hand thoughtfully over his beard. "I did meet an… interesting contact… with some interesting information."

"Right, see? So we could—"

"—get the information to people on the outside—"

"—which might allow us to escape or at least—"

"—help others to take down Dooku."

Yes, exactly. It's nice that Obi-Wan is thinking along a similar line. That just makes Anakin's life a little easier, and these days, anything that does that is entirely welcome.

"Good plan," Obi-Wan says simply. "Except for the fact that you destroyed my datapad."

He waves off Obi-Wan's words with a sweep of his hand and takes another bite of soup. "Sacrifice for the good of the galaxy. Anyway, who was your contact?"

The way Obi-Wan looks away, not quite ashamed, but almost like he can't quite believe that Anakin would choose to ask _that _of all things—it's not comforting. Who could Obi-Wan have met that would make Anakin's question so ironic?

And then he knows.

No.

That can't be possible.

"You didn't…" he murmurs, soup suddenly forgotten.

Obi-Wan just shrugs and gives him a small smile. "Actually, _she_ found _me_."

"How? I mean, I know she's smart, but that's just—that's _really _good."

"Yes," he agrees, smoothing at his beard again and glancing at Anakin, definitely amused now, "you ought to pay attention to what she does."

"Oh, believe me, I _do_." Wait, what? Did he just say that to _Obi-Wan_? To Obi-Wan, who he should never, ever tell anything like that, because this is _Obi-Wan_, who doesn't ever need to know anything like that. Force, that's beyond embarrassing.

In that, at least, they seem to be in agreement, though Obi-Wan is as amused by Anakin's embarrassment as Anakin is, well, _embarrassed_. "Yes, well, that's not entirely what I meant."

"Forget I just said that."

"Oh, no, certainly not: I've had so little to laugh about recently."

"Does it have to be at my expense?"

"It usually is," he reminds Anakin, taking a bite of his own food.

"What did she want?"

In an instant, the humor fades, slipping away like sand in the wind, and Obi-Wan is left looking at him with serious eyes. "That's… a little more complicated."

It doesn't seem like he truly thinks it's complicated—it just seems that he doesn't quite know how to tell Anakin what she said. After everything that's happened, what can possibly be left that could make him feel that way?

"Anakin," he begins slowly, stirring his soup. The faint scraping of the spoon on the bottom of the bowl grates on Anakin, but he doesn't say anything. "I—" He pauses again, exhaling slowly. "Right. Let's just say she informed me that you aren't the last Skywalker I'm ever going to have the unique… _pleasure_ of meeting."

What? That's a little vague. Obi-Wan's going to have to do better. "Is she changing her last name to 'Skywalker' or something?"

"Not that I know of."

"Then, what?" he asks, his frustration growing. Does Obi-Wan have to be so cryptic?

Obi-Wan just closes his eyes, and, watching him, Anakin gets the impression that he's missed something very important. Something that Obi-Wan is unusually hesitant to explain. "Let's just say that those times I assigned you crèche duty as a punishment might come in handy."

_What?_ There's something in the back of his mind that's telling him he knows exactly what Obi-Wan is saying, but that knowledge can't quite seem to make a connection with reality. He knows, but he can't accept it. Not yet. "You can't be saying…"

"She's pregnant, Anakin."

Right. He's about to die. Just drop dead. Someone kill him right now, because he never, _never _thought he'd have to be in a situation where his master would be the one to tell him that he'd accidentally gotten Padme pregnant. Anyone else. Anyone but Obi-Wan Kenobi, who blushed all the way through the talk about sex he had to give Anakin when he was ten and unknowingly announced that he was going to marry Padme. And that—that is _nothing _compared to this.

_Please, please don't ask how this happened_.

Thankfully, Obi-Wan doesn't. He probably doesn't want to know the circumstances, and Anakin really doesn't want to tell him. Still, he can't quite believe Obi-Wan is going to let this go so easily. After how much it embarrassed Obi-Wan to have to explain the concept of reproduction and the necessities of safe sex to him, there's no way he's going to let this slide without eventually making some sort of comment about Anakin's carelessness.

Still, there is one saving grace: Obi-Wan's conversation with Padme must have been downright mortifying for him. And if Anakin has to suffer the embarrassment of talking about this with his master? Obi-Wan darn well better have had to deal with Padme.

"How far along?"

"Well, Anakin, why don't you tell me? Did you notice anything… _different_ about her the last time we were home?"

No, he didn't, and she hadn't said anything, which means it probably happened right before he and Obi-Wan left for the Outer Rim. Honestly, though, does it really matter? Obi-Wan is going to kill him anyway. "A few months, then?"

He stares disapprovingly at Anakin. "That's what she said."

"I, uh, how's Padme?"

Obi-Wan doesn't look up from where he's still stirring his soup. Anakin would like to point out that it's already very well mixed, but he's in enough trouble to begin with—no need to add more. Smart mouthed comments aren't going to help him any.

"Worried about you."

"Did you tell her I was all right?"

"I was a little preoccupied, but, yes."

"Is _she _safe?"

Finally, Obi-Wan stops stirring the soup, instead opting to begin eating it again, probably just as a way to stall. After years of negotiation, that is, in Anakin's opinion, the best skill Obi-Wan has learned: how to stall without making it obvious. Too bad it's far more obvious to Anakin than it is to some stuffy foreign dignitary. Those are the perks—or curses—of living with someone for half your life.

"I told her to be, but you know Padme."

"And where did you see her?"

There's a short pause, and Obi-Wan's fingers slide absently over the spoon. Then, he taps it once before he starts stirring again. "In a down-level section of Fondor. We—actually, she crashed the meeting I was attending. She's a very good shot with a blaster, you know. Anyhow, I pursued her, and finally caught up to her in an abandoned warehouse."

"She was in the _entertainment district_?"

"She had a blaster. She was fine."

"That is _not_ fine!"

Looking up, Obi-Wan shoots him a nasty look. "What did you want me to do, Anakin? Bring her back here?"

"No—I just—_no—_!_" _He's being completely unreasonable. This isn't Obi-Wan's fault, and he knows that, but the idea of Padme running around in an area like that is not one that he relishes. Plus, now it's not just her own life.

"She's involved in some sort of rebellion, but we both decided it would be better for me not to know the details."

Anakin rubs a hand wearily over his face. Of course they decided that. Because details would actually make Anakin feel better—he hates the unknown. "Did she leave a way to contact her?"

"She said she'd contact _me_."

"How did she look?"

"Like Padme."

Sometimes, he could really hit Obi-Wan. "Thanks. I had no idea."

Obi-Wan finally just gives up on the spoon and tips the bowl to his mouth. He'd never do that in public. It's far too undignified. "She looked fine, Anakin," he says once he finishes, and Anakin can't help but soften under the sympathy in his stare. Obi-Wan's not trying to be unkind. He's just… being Obi-Wan, and sometimes Anakin finds that unkind.

"So, will you babysit?"

All he gets is a blank, uncomprehending stare. One blink, then another, and eventually a third before Obi-Wan finally replies with a toneless, "No."

"Really? C'mon, you raised _me—"_

"I'm still recovering."

"Master, that's not nice—"

"The _experience _wasn't nice."

Anakin just huffs and crosses his arms, leaning back in his chair. Obi-Wan appears unaffected. Fine, then. He'll just eat his soup. Again, Obi-Wan doesn't seem to care very much.

Finished with his own soup, Obi-Wan pushes his chair back and stands up, bringing his dishes to the sink. "You can clean up," he tells Anakin easily, the ghost of a smirk shadowing his lips.

"I hate washing—"

"You destroyed my datapad. I'm going to be without entertainment now. It's the least you can do."

"I have a mechanical hand! It's bad for the circuitry."

"Then wear a glove to protect it." Seeming pleased with himself, he heads for the hallway, but pauses at the edge of the kitchen. "Oh, and, Anakin?" he says over his shoulder, and just from the wicked smirk in his eyes, Anakin knows he's not going to like whatever Obi-Wan is about to say, "I suggest you take the time alone to reflect on why it's also wise to use protection in other ways other than for washing dishes."

That sentiment about wishing someone would just kill him now? It's back, and with a vengeance. Obi-Wan can not have just said that.

Slumping over, Anakin lays his head on the table. Force help him. He _knew _he was going to have to hear something like that eventually. Seriously, though? That's embarrassing. He does not what to have this talk with his master.

In the hallway, he can hear Obi-Wan laughing.


	17. Chapter 16

**Disclaimer: **I own nothing.

**Feedback**: If you'd be so kind as to leave some, I'll do my best to reply.

**Notes:** ROTS AU.

Ethos: I like dramatic moments better too. However, sometimes, when I'm writing Obi-Wan/Anakin conversations, the banter just takes on a life of its own. :)

Lilianne-Rachelle: Thank you!

Pronker: Haha, _exactly_: Obi-Wan isn't really upset about his datapad. It's just natural for him to give Anakin a hard time about it.

ObiBettina7: Anakin can be a bit mothering, can't he? And, honestly, I find it hilarious. :) Oh, and they'll make a plan to get it attached to Dooku…

anakinpadmekenobi: I don't picture Obi-Wan as actually being that upset. I think he just likes to tease Anakin. I'm sort of running with that idea from the Clone Wars series where he seems to like to heckle Anakin about things he's not actually irritated about. About the baby: I think he's a bit overwhelmed with everything, and for him, his first priority is Padme—the baby doesn't seem real yet. It's just an idea, and for him, that's second to his worry for her and for the situation in general. He'll react later on, though, when the idea becomes a little more of a reality.

charliebrown1234: Dooku didn't place listening devices in the apartment because he was confident enough that he didn't feel he needed them. He basically thinks he has his game won already, and there's no information he needs from Anakin or Obi-Wan, so surveillance like that wouldn't have much of a point. Good question, though, and I think that's definitely a plot hole that I filled in my mind but didn't fix up in the story. I'll have to add something in a later chapter.

Estora: You know, I don't know where the cooking thing came from! I always just imagined Obi-Wan as being able to cook, probably because he was in charge of a small child. The bit about Anakin not being able too, though—no idea where that comes from. And, yes, Obi-Wan face/palmed! :) The ending bit, too—I just had to make Obi-Wan make some kind of comment. I couldn't resist. :D Also, don't worry if you don't get around to reviewing. I'll admit, it's really fantastic to get feedback, but I understand people are busy. That's just life.

truthfullies66: I agree very much: I didn't like how Padme's character seemed to get weaker in the third movie. And you're right about undercurrents in Obi-Wan's character. That's going to be a big part of this story.

* * *

Kenobi did an excellent job. Everything is in order. Fondor no longer needs to be regarded as a potential problem—in fact, it might even be an asset. Indeed, Kenobi did very well.

When he'd arrived back, his appearance in no way indicated that, however.

Dooku had met Kenobi on the landing pad when he'd returned. He'd held himself rigidly, as always, but in the nuances of his movements, he'd seemed weighted down and weary. Force knows the stress wouldn't break him, but he _had_ seemed bent: Dooku didn't need to ask to know that hadn't slept in days, and he doubted Kenobi eaten much, either. The report he'd given Dooku had been curt and brief, but complete and fitting with the facts. There had been a short altercation at one of the meetings, but Kenobi had taken care of it and still made the deal he'd needed to. His work had been exemplary, the job done as well as Dooku could have wished.

And, clearly, Kenobi had hated every moment of it.

Once he'd been done with his report, he turned on his heel and headed away from the landing pad. It was obvious where he intended to go, but, frankly, Dooku can't imagine why anyone would willingly once again subject themselves to immediate imprisonment. Once Kenobi goes back to the apartment he shares with Skywalker, he'll be locked in. Wouldn't it be more logical to take a few hours to relax, perhaps take advantage of the sites Coruscant has to offer?

But, no, Kenobi simply heads straight back to check on his irritating former padawan.

Dooku cannot understand it.

Later, he'll pay them a visit—not that he truly needs to. Kenobi should be expendable, just another man on his payroll, at least in a manner of speaking. Yet, Dooku is curious. He's fascinated by the man, by his connection to Kenobi through Qui-Gon, and by Kenobi's dedication to Skywalker. Caring for a padawan—that's not such a foreign concept—but Dooku's caring for Qui-Gon was always at a distance, never so personal as the relationship these two have. Most importantly, Dooku can't put aside the tiny spark of his old padawan that he sees in Kenobi at times.

For that—and out of curiosity—he continues to watch.

Not now, however. For now, he has things to accomplish.

The Senate is hardly a threat anymore, not when it's clogged with nothing more than cloying politicians, all hoping for him to throw them a political bone. Disgusting. If they want power, they should have the strength to seize if. Of course, he would kill them if they tried, but as long as they do as he tells them, he will certainly never respect them.

An interesting conundrum.

Even so, as pathetically weak as the Senate is, it does still have its purpose. Dooku is not entirely ready to dissolve it yet. Someday, perhaps, but for now it is still a regrettably needed body.

The speech he makes is short and to the point, nothing more than pretty words and promises of peace that he _will _obtain, but that he'll keep hold of through power. How amusing that they agree to their own imprisonment with applause and encouragement. Even Skywalker is more intelligent than that—he at least posesses the common sense to fight back when someone is trying to cut his legs out from under him. In that respect the boy is, though Dooku dislikes admitting it, rather adept. He fights well… and he fights hard. That, at least, seems to be something Kenobi has succeeded in instilling in him. Don't give up. Don't give in. Know when to retreat, but when you have to fight, fight _hard_. Give it everything you've got.

Dooku dislikes the time for questions from the Senate that follows his speech—he has always hated others pressing at his opinions—but it's necessary, and most of the time what the Senators have to say is little more than wordy agreement. It's not as though he needs it: if he cared for the approval of these men, he would have stayed on the side of the Republic.

"The Empire recognizes the honorable senator from Corellia" he announces, watching as the floating dais hovers out away from the others.

The Senator from Corellia. He can't remember his name. Just a sniveling underling—a coward, someone Dooku is certain hardly possesses enough of a backbone to really be of use. He likes those who work for him to have strength—there's nothing worth having about them if they don't. It might take a little more time and effort to control them, but anyone he intends to use as more than a means to an end is worth the work.

This man is not.

"My Emperor," the man says, bowing. "It has recently come to our attention that there are rumors of the beginnings of a rebel organization."

Naturally. That's what happens after a war. He expected nothing less. It shows how incompetent this man is that he seems surprised. His mind is as fat and indulged as his face and body… and that's quite a concession, given that Dooku would liken his facial structure to that of a hutt. "I assure you Senator, it has already been noted, and plans are in place to insure that they will never develop beyond the innocuous waste of breath and human matter that they currently insist upon being."

"Plans", of course, is merely a gentlemen's term for his intention to annihilate them. He will not tolerate a threat to his new Empire. He has worked too hard to gain this position, toiled too long, and he will not allow anything to impede his progress, least of all a rebel faction that clings to the remnants of a now-dead era.

Perhaps he'll have Kenobi lead the front to wipe them out? But even as he considers it, he knows it's a poor idea. While Kenobi might be motivated enough by the threat to Skywalker's life, it's always poor strategy to assign a general to active combat when his sympathies could lie with the opposing cause.

And so Kenobi will remain a negotiator. His days on the front lines are over.

Around the room, whispers begin, pouring down to him like a roll of thunder. Even whispers are loud in a room like this. It's powerful, this noise, falling down on him and running through his veins and through his blood. He was meant for this. He always was.

Was this how Sidious felt when he stood here? As though the galaxy were at his command, hanging on his every word? He could slaughter them all if he wished… just as he slaughtered Sidious. That's power, and he has to admit, he enjoys it.

"We have nothing to fear from these rebel factions," he assures the Senators. "They will be dealt with swiftly and decisively. Now that peace has been achieved, it will continue, I assure you. I will allow no one to interfere."

The applause is sporadic at first, but it gains momentum until the whole room is ringing with it. Part of him wishes to raise his hands, to accept it, but there is really no reason for him to do so. It is already his, and he has no need for a grand gesture to solidify that.

His grand gestures can lie in how he keeps what he already has, not in how he welcomes it to begin with.

Smiling, he accepts their applause and continues to plan for the future.

* * *

Obi-Wan can't remember the last time that he had a meal like this. It was certainly before the war, probably on some sort of diplomatic mission. Since then, the Temple cafeteria has frankly become something of a near delicacy after living on meal packs and ration bars while in the field.

Of course, it's no secret that he'd prefer the meal packs and ration bars to the meal he's currently eating.

Dooku is not the company he wants tonight. Dooku is not the company he wants _any_ night. In fact, if he never saw the man again, it would be a blessing.

Regrettably, he doesn't seem to be blessed.

Only a sense of pride and manners—the knowledge that it would be a pointless, childish gesture to refuse—keeps Obi-Wan from refusing the salad of fresh greens topped with Corellian Vinaigrette that seems to be the first course. That, and he truly is hungry, and the food is very good. Still, not good enough to make him enjoy the company.

Dooku sits across the table from him, napkin smoothed over his lap, the very picture of good etiquette. His posture is perfect, his hands lightly grip the silverware, inflecting a near elegance into his movements… and, yet, there is no doubt that he's watching Obi-Wan, studying everything he does with an aura of science that is overwhelmingly clinical.

Suddenly, Obi-Wan feels a bit bad for the fish he let Anakin keep as a pet when the boy was younger. It probably died from the irritation of being watched constantly.

"If you have a question, you'd make better time asking it rather than watching me in hopes I'll give you an inadvertent answer," he says finally, delicately picking at his salad.

Dooku chuckles and, oddly, the humor seems sincere. For the moment, there's no hostility in his eyes, but merely curiosity, and perhaps a bit of enjoyment. How strange. "Right to the point. I should have expected nothing less."

Through sheer effort he gently keeps spearing the greens of his salad. He's experiencing an oddly juvenile temptation to vicariously live out his desire to harm Dooku by taking it out on the innocent vegetables.

"Still," Dooku continues, pausing with his empty fork halfway back to his dish, "I don't believe you'll answer most questions I ask."

"I suppose the only way to find out is by actually _asking _them."

"Is that an invitation for conversation?"

"Strangely enough, I think I'd find that preferable to your invasive habit of studying my behavior."

A small smile plays at Dooku's lips. "Perhaps you could simply be a bit more forthcoming."

"I think you're confused. I did a good deal of negotiation during the war, which often involved conversations with a rather unsavory crowd, but I do not hold soul-bearing conversations with Sith lords in my spare time. I actually prefer a good game of dejarik."

The smile widens, disappearing only when Dooku takes another bight of salad. He chews slowly, watching Obi-Wan with a disconcerting frankness until he's done. So much for disposing of that unnerving bent toward observation. "You talk with Skywalker. I daresay you trust that boy more than anyone else."

Obi-Wan doesn't reply. Dooku is fishing for something, but he's at a loss for what, and he won't begin to even play with the bait until he has a little more information.

"Not going to respond to that?" Dooku prompts. "Very well. What if I told you Skywalker could have easily become the very thing you find most deplorable of all?"

He won't admit to the odd stirring that creates in his stomach, as though the salad isn't settling properly. Disturbingly, though, it's not the food: it's the truth he thinks he can sense in Dooku's tone. "I doubt Anakin would ever become a politician. I think we both agree that he lacks the tact."

He should probably feel some sort of triumph at the amusement in Dooku's eyes, and in the way he exhales lightly in a way that is just short of becoming a chuckle. He doesn't, though. For whatever reason, he's irritated that Dooku found what was half a joke and half a misdirection amusing. "Clever." Pausing, Dooku signals to the droid at the door that they're ready for the next course. Once the droid leaves, he turns back to Obi-Wan, all amusement gone, instead replaced with an icy seriousness. "I've spoken to you before of Darth Sidious. If you like, you can deny any belief in the veracity of my statement, but we both know it will be a lie. The Jedi Council has been searching for another Sith Lord beside myself. We both know this to be true."

Yes, well, that's not much of a secret anymore. Not after Zigoola. "I won't bother. Continue," he says, imperiously waving his hand.

The gesture doesn't seem to irritate Dooku as much as Obi-Wan would like. "Darth Sidious is dead."

"Oh, really?" he asks, arching an eyebrow. "And who do we have to thank for this unexpected favor?" That's really not much of a question. It's the way of the Sith to kill each other off. He knows—even without being told—exactly who killed Sidious.

"He intended to kill me, you know. Replace me with a younger apprentice."

Again, the stirring in Obi-Wan's stomach begins, this time solidifying, more like rocks that are tumbling over and over in his gut. These beginnings of knowledge—he doesn't like them, but he can't stop now, even if he suspects he's not going to like what he hears.

"That's the way of the Sith. You should have known that."

"Yes, well, we are all a bit blind at times."

If Anakin were here, Obi-Wan can almost picture him coughing something uncomplimentary under his breath. Strangely, he finds that he almost wishes he had Anakin to do that. It's too juvenile for him to do, but he's beginning to wonder if he's been living vicariously through Anakin's childish behavior. It's a way that he can see petty, insulting things said without saying them himself.

"It hardly matters. I neutralized him before his intentions could become reality. And, as you have said yourself, I've done you an unexpected favor."

"Yes, I'm sure you had the good of the Jedi at heart."

The droid finally returns, caring two plates of what Obi-Wan identifies as Naos Sharptooth. That must have been expensive—fish like that can only be harvested in the coldest months on Naos. Perhaps Dooku just threatened to annihilate the entire system if they didn't concede to his culinary demands. As absurd as it sounds, it's actually rather likely.

Dooku carefully begins to cut at his fish. "No, certainly not. But it did result in your good, I assure you."

"The Republic has been overthrown and the Jedi slaughtered. How is that for our good?"

"Not he good of the Order—_your _good. Would you prefer to live in a world where your padawan was the next Sith apprentice?"

He won't believe that. He won't, not even when that feeling in his stomach twists, sickening him. The fish is delicious, but it's hard to force down when his insides are in knots. "Anakin wouldn't fall."

"You wouldn't notice the signs."

"Of course I would." His denial is a bit too vehement. Dooku seems to notice that, latching onto it with a quickness that disturbs Obi-Wan… or perhaps he's just disturbed at his own blind faith.

Now, for the first time tonight, Dooku surveys him with contempt. "Master Kenobi, since the time you began training that boy, he's been mentored by a Sith Lord… and you never noticed."

Obi-Wan's hand tightens on his knife, and he saws at the fish just a little harder than necessary. Normally, he would be embarrassed by the displeasingly loud scrape of the knife over his plate, but for the moment, he doesn't care. As far as he's concerned, it's a poor substitute for trying to shove it through Dooku's heart. "I don't believe you."

"You didn't believe me on Geonosis, either."

Fair point. "I've been wrong before. But Anakin is not a Sith Lord."

"Not yet," Dooku agrees with an oily smile. "But Chancellor Palpatine was."

_What? _Obi-Wan could swear he's just been doused in icy water, like the time Anakin played a prank and blocked off the hot water while Obi-Wan was in the shower. This—this is worse. _Chancellor Palpatine? _The man they were searching for was right in front of them, privy to almost all their intel the entire time? That can't be possible. It _can't _be. If it is… if it is than Anakin has put his faith in one of the most evil, deceptive men of all time… and Obi-Wan hadn't noticed.

"Your padawan was confiding in a Sith Lord, Master Kenobi. How does it feel to know that he'd tell a man like that things he wouldn't tell you?" The words cut, burning through him, and he raises his eyes to meet Dooku's solid, unyielding stare. "He told Palpatine about his massacre of the sand people, about his doubts of the Jedi, about his problems with _you_. And Palpatine used it, told the boy what he wanted to hear. Anakin was slated to be his new apprentice."

"That's why you hate Anakin." It's all he can to think to say. Everything else—it's too much—and he stares numbly at Dooku, because what he's saying—it's _true_. It all fits. Obi-Wan knows it does. He doesn't want it to, but it fits too perfectly for it not to to be true. Anakin's beliefs, the way he would always be more arrogant, more disrespectful after he spent time with the Chancellor; the way the Separatists always seemed to know where the Republic was going to strike, as if they were privy to all their information; even Palpatine's slow gathering of emergency powers. It all fits. All of it.

Dooku isn't lying.

"I find it insulting that Sidious intended to replace me with a volatile, unstable boy, yes," Dooku admits with a small shrug. Then, oddly, his demeanor seems to soften: he lays down his fork and knife and regards Obi-Wan with a sort of pity. "See what I gave you by doing all this, Obi-Wan? Your padawan—your son—would have turned against you if I had not removed Sidious. You owe me Anakin's life."

Obi-Wan's mouth feels very dry. Slowly, he takes a drink, letting the wine slip down his throat, a liquefied form of comfort, and the only one he has right now. "His life isn't worth the galaxy."

"Oh, I assure you, Sidious intended to do everything I have done. He would have wiped out the Jedi Order. He would have reorganized the Republic into an Empire. And he would have done it with Anakin as his apprentice."

"I wouldn't have let that happen. Not to Anakin." The words are heavy on his tongue, and he knows it's a lie he's telling himself, because he can't handle the truth.

Dooku leans forward, gazing steadily at him, still with pity, but now with the tiniest hint of fervor, as if he senses he's just on the cusp of something. "You tell yourself love is wrong, Obi-Wan, but look how much you love this boy. You're lying to yourself because you love him. Isn't that the very wrong you preach against? You are purposely deceiving yourself because you would rather see a lie than see Skywalker fall."

He's right. He's too right. "I never said I was perfect," he snaps.

Immediately, Dooku seems to catch on his loss of composure. "You don't have to be. The Jedi gave you unrealistic standards."

"Anakin is a good man."

"Yes," he agrees slowly. "Yes. And good men fall."

Qui-Gon used to say that. When Obi-Wan was angry, when he protested that a small slip wouldn't amount to anything because he was a good person, Qui-Gon would tell him that… and now Obi-Wan knows where he got those words.

He feels ill.

"He wouldn't have gone through with it." Still lying. It's like poison on his tongue.

"Oh, Obi-Wan," Dooku says slowly, shaking his head. "Look what you're doing." Half mocking, half serious. "You're lying again."

Inside himself, he can feel his control so dangerously close to snapping, but everything is unraveling right in front of him, and he feels that, as that foundation goes, the foundation of who he is goes with it. The curtain is being pulled up to reveal the puppet masters who have been orchestrating every move of the last few years of his life, and showing that they would have done the same in the years to come. Everything he thought was solid and real is suddenly nothing more than shifting sand. "Anakin would never have betrayed me." Force, and that's what it comes down to, isn't it? He can't believe Anakin would let him down. He can't believe his promises to Qui-Gon are all for nothing.

He can't accept that the boy he loves like his own flesh and blood might be his downfall_._

Dooku's eyes glitter, like a puri cat that senses it's about to take down its prey. Obi-Wan sees that, but he can't move away, can't dodge. "Are you sure?" Dooku asks quietly.

Of all the things he could say, that's the worst. Obi-Wan can refute anything _Dooku_ says, but an invitation to examine his own convictions and realizations—that will keep him up at night, tossing and turning, driving himself mad wondering whether Anakin would have betrayed him.

"Yes," he lies, furiously. "I am."

And Dooku smiles. "You were sure he'd never commit mass murder too, weren't you? So sure he was _good_, that Qui-Gon was _right—_"

Obi-Wan lunges forward. It's stupid, so stupid, but he can feel the truth in Dooku's words, can see it reflected in his own inadequacies, and blind fear—fear that Anakin _would _have fallen and he wouldn't have seen it coming—pushes him forward.

Obi-Wan's punch catches Dooku straight in the mouth, but before Obi-Wan can land another, Dooku has straightened back up and drawn his blade, pausing with it hovering over Obi-Wan's heart. Part of Obi-Wan wants to push forward anyway, make Dooku decide whether or not to just finally end this, but he's no coward. His world has crumbled under him, but he won't take the easy way out. He will fight this until the end.

He stops moving.

"Look what love has done to you, Obi-Wan" Dooku murmurs, tone soft and low, almost kind, but the most despicable thing Obi-Wan has ever heard.

This is bordering on the kind of rage he felt when Qui-Gon was cut down. That's logical: seeing the orchestrated ruination of everything his master worked to build is like having him cut down all over again.

But he will not give into the hate.

Doing so would make him as bad as what he's fighting.

Glaring back at Dooku, he murmurs, "Look what hate has done to _you_."

There's a moment of pause in which Dooku's face evens out, wrinkles easing, right before his muscles tense back up, pulling the skin tight in a snarl of anger. Obi-Wan can't block while he's at bladepoint—the blow that comes strikes him squarely in the mouth. The skin of his lip splits, and a rush of blood pours into his mouth, but he just takes it, straightening back up for more.

He won't become the man in front of him.

Dooku still holds his blade before him, watching silently as Obi-Wan blots at his mouth, hand coming away with a smear of red. He keeps his weapon drawn, but his expression settles into something like regret. "Take a seat, Obi-Wan," he says, almost gently.

Obi-Wan does. He seats himself back down in his chair, one hand in his lap, the other reaching for a napkin to wipe the blood from his mouth. It would be a shame to stain the tablecloth with something that's as hard to get out as blood.

"That was uncalled for," Dooku says, finally putting away his lightsaber. "I apologize."

He won't be eating anymore tonight. Already his lip is swelling. "Don't bother. I didn't have a high opinion of you to begin with."

Is he mistaken, or is that a shade of regret that seems to haunt Dooku's face. What can he possibly regret about _that?_

"I do not share the same view of _you_."

"Flattering."

"Obi-Wan," he says, almost entreatingly, "I have no desire for us to be enemies. I still want what I offered on Geonosis: I want you to join me."

Right. That's laughable. Hoth will become a tropical paradise first, and even if that did happen—Obi-Wan has seen a lot of strange things—he'd still refuse. He sees how the dark side has torn this man apart. There is nothing left of him, nothing but what Anakin _could _have become, and that's enough to make bile rise in his throat at just the sight of Dooku. No, he will not turn. He made a mistake here tonight, but that doesn't mean he'll try and cover for it with a second larger one. "My answer remains the same."

"Obi-Wan, you were Qui-Gon's padawan—"

"I don't care if you raised _Yoda_. My respect for you remains nonexistent. You are a man consumed by lust for power, and to obtain that power, you will remove anyone who opposes you. I have no desire to be a man like that."

For a moment it seems that Dooku is going to protest further: his mouth thins, as though he's preparing to speak, but he appears to think better of it and leans back in his chair instead, reaching out and delicately fingering the stem of his wine glass. "You think that hate has made me the way I am."

Slowly, Obi-Wan tilts his chin upward, trying for wordless defiance.

"That isn't the truth. The truth is that I believed the Jedi Order to be stagnant. Eventually, I saw that I could do no more good. I also saw your master killed. I will not say that his death is what prompted me to leave, but it was a deciding factor."

"Qui-Gon believed in what he died for."

"If the Jedi hadn't been so foolish, so set in their ways and determined to deny that the Sith had returned, he need not have met his end. Again, it was Jedi stagnation that was to blame."

"A nice thought, but I prefer to blame the Sith who impaled him. Joining the side of your padawan's murderer is a strange way of expressing regret."

"The dark side is not to be feared, Obi-Wan. You need both sides. A balance."

No. He knows that's wrong. All the dark side has ever brought is destruction. It's attractive, powerful, but it's the end of all who embrace it. "The dark side is for those too weak to follow the light."

That's the end of it. He can see the shift in Dooku's eyes.

They are done for tonight, and while Obi-Wan certainly hasn't won this round, he's kept them at a stalemate. That's something, at least.

Slowly, Dooku raises his wine glass to his mouth and takes a sip. Then, swallowing, he sets it aside and blots at his mouth with a napkin. "I cared for your master, Obi-Wan, at least in my own way. And for that you'll live. I would prefer to see you exist in a way where you are happy, healthy, and accepting of your situation, but I will admit, that is not my utmost priority. If you refuse to cooperate, you will live with the situation you create for yourself."

"Then I do not believe we have anything more to discuss." Hopefully, Dooku takes that as the clear request for dismissal that it is.

"Very well," he replies, simply inclining his head as he pushes his chair back. Obi-Wan does the same, and even takes an odd sort of pleasure in tossing his bloody napkin back down onto the pristine white tablecloth. Dooku glances at it with a hint of distaste, but he says nothing. "It's a pity you wouldn't stay for dessert."

Obi-Wan gives him a slight bow. "It's a pity I had to come at all."

"Yes, well, we all make sacrifices. I'll have the clones escort you back to your quarters. Give Skywalker my regards… and when you tell him just how close he came to becoming a Sith Lord, do be gentle. After all, Sidious spent a good amount of time nullifying your teachings and nurturing those volatile emotions of his. I'm sure emotional reactions are quite ingrained by now."

Just walk out. Just walk. And he does. He moves stiffly, with his teeth gritted and muscles in his back corded so tightly that he doubts they'll ever loosen, but he moves to the door and leaves. He cannot give Dooku the satisfaction of losing his control in front of him again… and he's so close. Jedi Master or not, when his world has been torn apart, he's still going to feel the hurt.

But for now, he clamps down on it and leaves, because anything else will be in Dooku's favor.

Frankly, he has to wonder exactly what isn't these days.


	18. Chapter 17

**Disclaimer: **I own nothing.

**Feedback**: If you'd be so kind as to leave some, I'll do my best to reply.

**Notes:** ROTS AU.

yellow 14: Honestly, I agree with you: it is what a lot of those politicians deserve. Good catch on the "human" line: that's actually done on purpose. Dooku canonically (at least outside the movies) doesn't like non-human species much.

Ethos: Given that you liked the fight in the last chapter, I happily present you with this one as well. :)

IsadoraJohnson: Thanks very much! I really do appreciate the encouragement, and I'm very flattered-you have no idea how much.

Lilianne-Rachelle: Thank you!

Pronker: No, Dooku won't be leaving Obi-Wan alone. He's just applying gradual pressure, waiting for Obi-Wan to do most of the work by tearing himself and his beliefs apart in his own mind.

ObiBettina7: "It's just like Dooku to tell someone in calm gentle tones that his tyranny is better than Sidious' tyranny just because what else would have happened otherwise." That's just a fantastic way to put that. My tyranny is better than your tyranny—that needs to be on a shirt or something. Oh, and Obi-Wan definitely will tell Anakin…

anakinpadmekenobi: I think you really got to the truth of the situation: Dooku isn't lying in order to rile Obi-Wan. He's just telling him the truth, and I think that's what's disturbing Obi-Wan most of all.

charliebrown1234: Haha, Obi-Wan is just as frustrated about the lack of answers as you are.

Skedaddle-San: Thanks!

RoMythe: Oh, Dooku is very much evil. He might not be as flat-out evil as Sidious, but he definitely has his own betterment—at just about any cost—in mind.

Smoltenica: At this point, you're right: Obi-Wan needs a hug. Anakin might get around to it eventually. I'm glad you like Dooku as well, since I'm having a much more enjoyable time writing him than I thought I would.

LadyDeb1970: Thanks for coming out of lurkerdom! I always appreciate it, especially considering I did the lurker thing for a couple of years before I started writing. Very well spotted about Anakin and Dooku, too: they're just alike enough to hate the other for reflecting some of their own traits back at them.

* * *

"What did you do to your face?"

When Obi-Wan is brought back to their apartment with an escort of two clones and a bloody lip, Anakin really doesn't have to ask to know that dinner didn't go well. Of course, he asks anyway. He won't get details otherwise.

Obi-Wan shoots him a look of hardly veiled annoyance and pushes past him.

There's something about him—something about the thinly veiled energy that's humming just under his skin—that prompts Anakin to look closer. Obi-Wan is holding something back, but his grip on it is slipping, and Anakin knows he shouldn't push—should just let Obi-Wan go try to meditate it away—but he's not sure that will help entirely. Not when it—whatever _it _is_—_has gotten this far.

If he had his way, Obi-Wan would probably ignore the situation... and if it were anyone but Anakin, he might have a decent chance of success. He's undeniably talented at misdirection and weaving words into a pattern that suits his purpose, but Anakin has gotten very good over the years at pressing until he gets the information he wants, and in this case he's pretty certain Obi-Wan will tell him, whether because he just lets it out in frustration, or because he wants to. The later is preferable, but at this point, Anakin will take the former.

"C'mon, sit down," he says, catching Obi-Wan's arm and steering him toward the table. Oddly, Obi-Wan lets himself be moved. He's not usually so accommodating.

"Just get me the medkit," Obi-Wan mutters, running a hand over his face. His fingers press over his forehead, massaging as he only does when he's nearly reached his breaking point. When Anakin was younger, it seemed to him like Obi-Wan was trying to scrub away the anxiety from his mind when he did that.

It just takes a few moments to head to the bathroom and get the kit. They keep it easily accessible on the closet shelf—he hates to think what that says about the frequency with which they use it.

When he returns to the kitchen, Obi-Wan reaches out a hand, indicating for Anakin to hand the kit over. "Thank you," he says stiffly, other hand finally dropping from his forehead.

Anakin doesn't give it to him. "Shut up and lean back."

That's not a very nice look Obi-Wan is giving him. He's almost insulted. Almost. "I can do this myself."

"Uhuh." Whatever. Obi-Wan can break bones and claim he can take care of himself. It doesn't mean he actually _can_… or, more importantly, that he should have to.

Carefully, he reaches out to dab at Obi-Wan's split lip with an antiseptic pad, hoping to clean away the trickle of blood that's gone down into his beard. It's not like this is so unusual: during the war, they often had to patch each other up. They're both used to it by now.

Used to it or not, Obi-Wan apparently doesn't want his help tonight.

Anakin never makes contact: Obi-Wan catches his wrist in a tight grip, and judging from the vitriol in his gaze, he's not playing.

"Let go, Obi-Wan. This needs to get cleaned."

"Then give me the disinfectant and let me do it!" he snaps.

Clearly, dinner went really, really badly. What did Dooku say to make Obi-Wan this bad-tempered?

Really, he should just give Obi-Wan the medkit and let him do it himself. That would be logical. It would diffuse the fight he knows is coming… but Obi-Wan wouldn't let Anakin hide when it came to his mother and the sandpeople, and as much as it hurt to tell Obi-Wan about that, it was what he needed. So, he's not going to let Obi-Wan hide either, which, of course, is easier in theory than in reality, because Obi-Wan is, in Anakin's opinion, often fairly close to a remedial level when it comes to anything that requires emotional vulnerability.

"No," he says simply.

Obi-Wan's grip tightens. "I'm not in the mood for this, Anakin."

Yes, which is what he said when Anakin was ten and wearing on his patience. Frankly, it wears on _Anakin's _patience that Obi-Wan thinks he can still treat him like a child when it suites him. Anakin is a general in his own right now. He leads men into battle, makes life and death decisions every day that he's in the field. He's not a youngling, no matter how much Obi-Wan can't seem to see that.

"What's your problem?" he asks, irritated now.

"Right now? _You!_"

It's not easy to refrain from rolling his eyes, but he does manage, though he can't quite check the sarcasm in his reply: "Really?"

Clearly angry now—the red tint to his cheeks gives him away—Obi-Wan tosses Anakin's arm aside and gets up out of the chair. "I'm _not _in the frame of mind to handle your juvenile antics tonight, Anakin."

Right. Juvenile antics. Because he's the one who's just short of throwing a fit for no apparent reason.

Anakin catches him with a firm hand on his shoulder, gripping tightly, making it clear that he's not letting go. He's fairly certain his own face is probably about as red as Obi-Wan's. "Who's acting juvenile?"

"Move, Anakin," he demands, trying to shrug off Anakin's hand.

Anakin doesn't move.

"_Now_."

No glare that Obi-Wan can give him is going to make him move. Obi-Wan had a really bad night. He gets that. But he's not going to act like this. He doesn't let _Anakin _act like this. If he wants to have the authority, he better follow his own rules.

"Make me."

It's not the smartest thing to issue what really amounts to a challenge. So what? Obi-Wan is irritating him, and he'd rather deal with a physical confrontation than snappy comments. Obi-Wan always cuts with his words—always has—and he's _good _at fighting that way. Anakin doesn't really have the patience for it, and right now, he doesn't have the inclination to even bother to try to have a war of words with someone who's very aptly nicknamed the "Negotiator". If Obi-Wan wants to fight, they'll do it on Anakin's terms.

Apparently, Obi-Wan isn't feeling choosy tonight: he's angry enough that he's not bothering to do what he always does. In other words, he's not smashing all of his emotions back down and walking away, cold and closed off. He's letting that anger ignite rather than freezing Anakin out with harsh words and icy looks.

This is actually an improvement, and Anakin feels himself narrow his eyes, matching Obi-Wan's own. There's a surge in the Force right before they both move, but it comes fast, too fast, and by the time Obi-Wan has pushed him back, it's already exploding.

Anakin staggers backwards a few feet, just barely catching his footing. Obi-Wan simply walks past, shooting daggers with his expression, like he doesn't care at all. Then, he turns and heads for his bedroom.

He never gets there, of course.

Anakin slams into him from behind before he's even taken a few steps.

This is not the best course of action. Talking would be more sane, less violent, and far less potentially damaging. But, sometimes, a good physical fight just releases things in a way nothing else can.

As soon as Anakin makes contact, Obi-Wan pitches forward, slamming chest first into the wall, but he's already rolling, grabbing for Anakin's wrists, spitting _mad _now. Anakin's furious too, almost to the point where he can feel his blood boiling, but some part of him knows Obi-Wan needs this, that something is seriously _wrong_, and this is one way they can get out. It's probably not the best way, but he doesn't really have time for a tactical analysis right now.

Obi-Wan's knee catches him in the gut, and he falls back, slamming his own fist out. Obi-Wan blocks that, but Anakin catches him on his counter, grabbing his arm and twisting. He can't get a good grip—Obi-Wan moves with his body, turning with Anakin's twist and sweeping his foot out under Anakin's legs all in one swift motion.

Anakin at least manages to take Obi-Wan down with him with a grip on his wrist that's still just barely tight enough to keep a hold. Obi-Wan falls half on top of him, already rolling, striking out with a quickness born from years of training. He's good. He's always been good, but right now, Anakin is determined to be better.

As Anakin shoves that punch aside, he vaguely registers that Obi-Wan is fighting sloppier than usual. This is just raw emotion. He's not refining his moves to truly inflict damage: he's just striking out with unchecked energy.

It's not calculated. Obi-Wan is not meditating on how he can cause injuries as he would if Anakin were a normal opponent. Instead, he's just letting go. He's leaving himself open in ways he wouldn't if he were fighting with a goal beyond just physically releasing his frustration.

And, Anakin realizes, he would only do that if he trusted his opponent not to truly take advantage of the gaps his messy fighting is causing.

Catching Obi-Wan's punch, he hits back, fist colliding with his master's mouth… but not as hard as he might have a few moments before, when he didn't realize what Obi-Wan is doing.

They go on like that for a while, trading blows. It's not pleasant, and this isn't fun like sparring is, but for the moment, there's nothing else to do.

Even when Obi-Wan manages to twist Anakin's arm up behind him, pushing his face into the floor, he still knows this is what they both need.

That doesn't mean he likes it. Suddenly, he's wishing he took advantage of a few more of those gaps Obi-Wan left open.

Too late now, though. Too late for much, except…

"Master, you're hurting me!"

He feels Obi-Wan's hold loosen immediately. Then, a quick, reassuring touch, like Obi-Wan wants to know just what he's hurt and how he can fix it. It doesn't matter how furious Obi-Wan is: Anakin trusts that Obi-Wan would never truly want to hurt him. He will always let go when asked—because Anakin _never _asks—and Anakin knows that, and plays on it.

And then flips him.

"'Member what you told me?" he asks, breathing heavily as he pushes Obi-Wan into the ground. "Don't let go until your opponent surrenders." Even under the circumstances, he still can't contain the bit of pride that creeps up within him. Even Obi-Wan can forget his own lessons.

"Let go, Anakin!" Obi-Wan orders, voice low and angry.

Definitely not, at least not before Obi-Wan starts talking. "What did he say to you? You're never like this. You don't lose control. What's wrong?"

Dooku has done something. Anakin doesn't know what, but what he's just said is true: Obi-Wan never loses control like this. He doesn't blame him for doing it, but he wants to get at the root of the problem like Obi-Wan did with him, because he knows from experience that letting things fester doesn't help.

Of course, that's a lot easier to recognize when the problem is with someone else.

Anakin doesn't expect his words to have the effect that they do: Obi-Wan goes still, face pressed to the ground. Only his back moves as he sucks in breath.

"C'mon, Obi-Wan," he says a little more gently, shaking him lightly. "I'm not letting you up until you talk."

"Yes, because you apparently prefer to talk to _Sith lords_!"

_What_? That… doesn't really make sense. Obi-Wan might as well have accused him of plotting the downfall of the Republic with Jar Jar Binks. "Um, good start," he replies, trying to be encouraging, "but you're going to have to give me more to go on than that."

"You really think you want to know, Anakin?" he demands, every word laced with a disturbing amount of venom.

He doesn't like the way Obi-Wan has gone from still to practically vibrating with… something—some sort of emotion—in a matter of seconds. Anything that could make Obi-Wan this emotional is enough to stir up the beginnings of unease within Anakin. Because Obi-Wan? He's never like this. "I asked, didn't I?"

"I'm surprised you still have the moral capacity to care, since you've spent half your childhood confiding in one of the most evil beings—"

"What are you talking about?"

Gritting his teeth, Obi-Wan turns his head to the side, just far enough that he can glare up at Anakin out of the corner of his eye. There's anger in spades in that glare, but for whatever reason, Anakin isn't convinced it's all directed at him. Maybe it is vicariously, but he's not the primary cause.

"Chancellor Palpatine is the Sith lord we've been looking for, and you never saw it. You told him things—told him illegal, immoral things that you did, and you were too blinded by your own arrogance—by how much you enjoyed him telling you what you wanted to hear—that you let him change you. You let him do it. _I _let him do it—"

_WHAT?_

Anakin knows he should feel something. This empty sort of shock—it's not good. It numbs everything, takes the pain away, but when he does feel, it's going to _hurt_. It's going to twist and cut and tear, maybe even cleave him in two with the pain and betrayal. Is that melodramatic? Maybe, but he's enjoying playing with the grandiose words in his mind, staring at them objectively as though they're just pretty, deadly objects, because he's not feeling them yet. They're almost beautiful when he doesn't have to feel them… but he can't appreciate pain once he's begun feeling it.

Perhaps he should appreciate the numbness while it lasts.

"Palpatine?" he repeats tonelessly. He lets go of Obi-Wan, fingers loosening uselessly, though he hardly knows he's doing it. This—it's unbelievable. Palpatine can't be a Sith lord. It's not—that's—he would have _known_.

Wouldn't he have?

Slowly, Obi-Wan sits up, leaning back to rest his weight on the palms of his hands. He's bleeding again. At some point the cut on his mouth reopened, and he's got one on his eyebrow to match.

"I—that can't be right," he murmurs, still getting up and going to the table to get the medkit. He's doing everything on autopilot, but it's good to have _something _to do. It's easier than feeling.

This time when he drops down in front of Obi-Wan and mechanically reaches out to clean out the cut on his lip, Obi-Wan lets him. He sits very still, staring at Anakin as though he's never seen him before. He looks as haunted as Anakin is finally now beginning to feel.

It's an odd sort of give, this transition from numb to disturbed. The information is swirling in his mind, as inescapable as his shadow, and more frightening than any regular nightmare—not premonition—that he's ever faced. Like a little boy, he wants to do nothing more than hide under his covers until the specter of his dreams disappears.

"It _is _right," Obi-Wan whispers finally, his eyes tracking Anakin's movements, though his head remains still. The pad comes away stained red. "It all fits, Anakin."

"I know."

He does. Truly. He just doesn't want to see it. Not yet. Like a child who wants a few more minutes to sleep, he only wants a little more time to dodge reality.

"I'm sorry."

What for? The information he had to give? His temper? His reaction to Anakin's earlier attempts to help? Really, it doesn't matter. Anakin doesn't blame him for any of it. Not now.

As Obi-Wan advised on the way back to Coruscant after the clones had shot them down, he's finally going to lay the blame at the feet of the people who deserve it.

That person is not Obi-Wan. He's done the best he can. He's done well. The blame belongs to the people who orchestrated all of this, who played with lives like they were as expendable and meaningless as the pieces in a game, and who care nothing for the fact that people are being destroyed. _Those _people are to blame. Not Obi-Wan.

"Why were you angry?" he asks, moving on to the cut above Obi-Wan's eye.

The words are hardly out of his mouth before Obi-Wan turns his face to the side, quick and sharp, trying to look away, like he thinks if he keeps looking at Anakin he'll break. "Force, Anakin, isn't it obvious?"

He moves after Obi-Wan, still wiping away the blood. "No." This would be easier if Obi-Wan would stop fidgeting like a youngling.

When Obi-Wan turns back to him and gives him the eye contact that a moment ago Anakin wanted, he almost wishes he'd keep fidgeting. This is too raw—to honest, and maybe Obi-Wan's refusal to look at him was as much a favor to Anakin as it was an act of self-preservation. "Anakin, don't you realize what Palpatine wanted?"

"Me." That's obvious. "He wanted me to be his apprentice." If anyone has a right to be upset, it's him. He's the one who's been betrayed. Yet, Obi-Wan is acting like_ he_ is the one who's had his trust in a friend shattered.

"Yes."

"Master, it's not like I would have."

Finished cleaning out the cut, he removes a bacta pad from the kit and smoothes it over the open area. It's not pretty, but Obi-Wan's had worse… just usually not from Anakin. Though, Anakin's pretty sure he can feel a few cuts and bruises of his own, courtesy of Obi-Wan's entirely uncharacteristic outburst. Counting cuts and bruises is a pretty nasty system of reckoning, but he figures they're about even.

"Do you know that?"

"Know what?"

Whereas he was trying to move away a few moments before, now Obi-Wan pushes forward, watching Anakin with a deep kind of solemnity. Everything in his eyes is begging for truth, entreating Anakin to please consider the question seriously and not just give the answer he wants to be true.

And that, in a way nothing else could, shakes Anakin's certainty in what _is _true.

Because if Obi-Wan doubts? He'd do well to doubt, too.

It's just that he's not used to Obi-Wan doubting _him_.

"Anakin, don't you see what you were like when you were around him? He made you feel that murder was acceptable, that arrogance was not a fault. Anakin—"

"I wouldn't have turned." He's sure. Slowly, he pushes himself back away from Obi-Wan. Why? He doesn't know. He's _sure_, right? Why's he running if he's sure?

"Anakin—"

"You of all people should know I wouldn't! I've seen what the dark side can do. I've seen it in Dooku. I wouldn't betray the Jedi like that. I wouldn't betray _you_."

Something icy cold settles in Obi-Wan's gaze, more frigid than Hoth. Anakin doesn't understand it any more than he's ever understood Obi-Wan's ability to make connections in the seemingly innocuous things that Anakin says.

Or, perhaps Obi-Wan just pays attention to things Anakin is determined to ignore.

"Anakin, I am not _the_ Jedi."

"Of course you are. You're a Jedi—"

"You don't see it, do you?" he asks, one hand going to his hair, pushing away the strands that have fallen into his eyes. "Anakin, you're loyal to people, not to principles."

"I believe in the Jedi—"

"No! No, you don't!" he snaps, suddenly animated again. His hand falls from his hair and he pushes himself to his feet, whipping around to present Anakin with his back. "That's just the problem! You disregard half the code, and you do it at your own discretion. The only thing about the Jedi that you're completely loyal to is the people within it that you care about. You're equating loyalty to the Jedi with loyalty to people. It's not the same. Not at all."

Pushing himself up, he resists the urge to make Obi-Wan regret turning his back with some sort of physical retaliation. "And why not?" he demands.

"Because that's _attachment_."

"Maybe if you were less concerned with attachment and more concerned with—"

Now, finally, Obi-Wan spins back around, arm flying out to the side in a useless gesture of pent up energy and anger. His lips twist into something close to a snarl, but he somehow keeps his hold on control.

And in one smooth movement, he manages to silence Anakin. The look on his face—the pain and hurt and frustration that's under the anger—is enough to do that.

"What if Padme were dying, Anakin? What if Palpatine was the only one who could save her? What would you do?"

"She's not—"

The space of a few seconds is enough to close the gap between them. Anakin doesn't fight Obi-Wan's hold, the way he pushes until Anakin's back against the wall. He just takes it, raising his hands to Obi-Wan's shoulders and holding on as his gut pitches at the look in Obi-Wan's gaze. "What would you do?" Obi-Wan repeats, softer, but with an intensity that Anakin can't throw off.

"I—"

Obi-Wan's face twists, pinching, and he shakes his head, like he's hurting in a way no one can quite fix. "Don't lie to me, Anakin." More of a plea than a demand, and that's far more effective.

It's effective enough to get the truth, even when Anakin doesn't want to admit it to himself.

"I don't know."

And that's the truth. Honestly. Raw and honest, it is.

Force, it _is_.

"I'm so sorry."

He is. Everything about him is sorry, because he's broken everything without actually shattering any of it yet… but what if he _had_? What if Palpatine had stayed in power? What if he'd gone through with his plans? Anakin was so close, and if none of this had been discovered, Anakin might have destroyed everything. Everything he loves best and most, he might have destroyed.

"I'm so sorry," he chokes out again, reaching out, fingers clenching against Obi-Wan's tunic. He pulls hard, pulls Obi-Wan off balance until he pitches in against Anakin, letting Anakin take his weight.

Anakin just holds him, because he owes him this and, right now, it's as comforting to hold as it is to be held. It's soothing someone else, giving him what _he _needs. It's trying to mend things he's only harmed with the threat of his possible actions…

…and erasing the possibility of something he only _might_ have done is the only thing that's going to fix _him_.

"It's all right," Obi-Wan murmurs against his shoulder, hand braced on the wall, other twisted into the fabric at Anakin's side. "We'll make it all right."

No. Nothing's all right. "You can't fix this."

"I don't need to. It's not broken yet."

And that—that's _everything_.

Obi-Wan's still here, real and solid, and Anakin fists his hand in the back of his tunic, holding tightly. Would he have killed this man? He trusted Palpatine. He knows that. Would that trust have warped him into a person who would have betrayed Obi-Wan? If it had been necessary, would he have been so blind as to try and save Padme with a darkness that would be nothing more than a betrayal toward her too? Maybe he would have… but he's not there yet.

Obi-Wan's right: they don't need to fix what's not broken.

They just need to make sure it doesn't break to begin with.

"I'm light, Obi-Wan," he chokes out, pressing his cheek against his master's hair, the words more of a decision than a pre-existent truth. Then, he just holds onto the body pressed against him. Obi-Wan. His master, his brother, and his father. His family, and the only man he'd ever let see him like this.

The man he _won't_ betray.

"Yes, Anakin," Obi-Wan whispers, just a breath beside his ear. "Yes, you are."

He is. He _will be_. He will not be a servant of the dark, a twisted person, someone of Palpatine's making. He will be a keeper of the light, the man he's meant to be—the _good _man.

He doesn't have to live what might have been.

He doesn't need to become someone he doesn't have to be.


	19. Chapter 18

**Disclaimer: **I own nothing.

**Feedback**: If you'd be so kind as to leave some, I'll do my best to reply.

**Notes:** ROTS AU.

yellow 14: Haha, the idea of Anakin teaching anger management is just fantastic. And, yes, lurkdom! :) It's basically when you read everything, but you never comment or post anything of your own. You just "lurk".

UndeniablyMe: I'm so thankful you decided to review! I have to admit, it does inspire me to update more often when I have concrete proof that people are reading. I do really appreciate the input, as well. I totally understand about the present tense, too. Basically, I read a story where someone did it really well, and I was like, "Wow, I want to learn to do that!" So, I practiced. A lot. Also, as you've probably picked up, I much prefer the version of Padme where she's a strong, I-won't-take-your-crap-and-I'll-shoot-you-if-I-have-to character.

puts foot in mouth: I'm so glad to hear from you! Thanks so much for reviewing, and I'm pleased you're enjoying this so far.

Pronker:Quite true: Dooku is just waiting, piling one stress on top of another. He's not done, either.

ObiBettina7: I agree completely: Sidious was able to turn Anakin because of trust. This is a little different. And, yes, Obi-Wan doesn't usually get so entirely furious like that, does he? Oddly, though, that's how I view the Anakin/Obi-Wan fight scene in ROTS. Obi-Wan never really tried to talk Anakin down much, and in his own way, it seemed sort of like his lack of an attempt to "Negotiate" was a loss of sense and control. It's a stretch, I know. :)

anakinpadmekenobi: I agree: Obi-Wan really doesn't have a reason to be angry at Anakin, but it's definitely easy to be sympathetic to Obi-Wan's position. And, yes, he is scared. For all that they're different, he and Anakin also seem to have a lot of likenesses that just get displayed in different ways.

charliebrown1234: Just wait—Obi-Wan isn't done yet. I seem to have a proclivity toward putting him in tough situations and seeing just how far I can push his character while still actually keeping him in character. Believe me, Obi-Wan's going to have to deal with a lot more before this story is done.

YamiSnuffles: For whatever reason, AUs are my favorites to write. However, I definitely agree: if they're done badly, it can be a mess. I do my best to keep character traits consistent with what I've seen in the movies, even when the characters are in a different situation. Thanks so much for reviewing! Glad you got an account!

* * *

Padme hopes the baby has Anakin's eyes.

She's always loved Anakin's eyes. Blue eyes, sometimes cloudy, sometimes clear, but when they _are_ cloudy, there's something almost dark about him. He can be so moody, so given to fits of brooding, but she's aware of his faults, and she loves him because he has them—because he's still good even with them—and not in spite of them. She loves Anakin, faults and all, imperfections and all.

She loves him… and she misses him more than she can say.

She always misses him while he's away. It's odd, considering she never had someone sleeping next to her on a regular basis until she married Anakin, but after the first morning when she woke with his arm looped over her, she missed his presence whenever he wasn't there. She just missed… him. His gentle kisses; his insistent caring; that way he'd just look at her and grin, sometimes so childish, but completely endearing; but, most of all, just _him_. His presence.

She worries that she'll never have his presence again.

What then? What if he never comes back? Is she always going to feel as lonely as she does now?

No. He'll be back. She knows Anakin, knows that he always lands on his feet and then laugh at the idea that anyone thought he ever could have fallen. He'll come back, grinning like mad, and teasing her for doubting.

Never before in her life has she wanted to be made fun of so badly.

She has to believe that he's all right. Obi-Wan said he was all right. He was safe, and he'll stay that way.

But what about her?

She's pregnant. She's carrying Anakin Skywalker's child, and where she was more than willing to risk her own life before, she's beginning to question whether she can do that anymore. The rebellion needs her—needs her to be like she always has been—but she's not so sure now that she can be the Padme Amidala who leads people into a combat situation—not when it puts her baby at risk.

"Senator?"

Glancing up from where she's leaning against a railing looking down onto the hanger below her, Padme meets Captain Typho's gaze. Usually, his face is a welcome one—he's a friend, as well as a loyal protector—but today she's too lost in her thoughts to want the new information she's sure he'll bring.

But she doesn't get to make that choice. Part of leadership is taking problems as they come. She can't pick and choose.

"Fondor has formally joined the Empire, as have a dozen other systems that we hoped would abdicate."

Of course they have. Right. Because good news isn't something she gets anymore.

It's an exercise in will power to crush her urge to swear. A Senator doesn't do that when she gets bad news. It's unseemly. Maybe if she used one of Huttese words she picked up from Anakin? At least no one would know what it meant… "General Kenobi must have done an impressive job."

Captain Typho just nods solemnly. "He's in a difficult position."

Oh, yes. She understands Obi-Wan's dilemma completely—Captain Typho just isn't aware of that particular bit of information. He doesn't know that she understands exactly what it feels like to worry for Anakin, to be willing to do things in order to insure his safety that one wouldn't otherwise do.

Dooku has played this one well, she has to admit.

"He's doing the very best he can. Do we have any information on when he'll next be sent out from the Temple?"

Giving a slight shake of his head, Captain Typho comes to lean on the rail with her, crossing his hands in front of him and staring downward. It's not that he's avoiding her gaze, but sometimes it's just simpler to look away while having conversations like this. Easier, maybe, for both of them. "Not yet."

"Then we're stuck waiting."

"Senator, even if we can make contact with him, I don't see what good it will do. If you could find no weakness in Dooku the last time you met with him, what's to say they'll be something this time?"

Nothing. There is nothing to indicate that… nothing expect her faith in Obi-Wan and in his resolve to never leave a viable option unexplored. If there's a way, he'll find it, and right now, that's where their hope lies. They can't mount a decent strike from the outside—not for some time yet. Dooku is too strong, and their numbers are too few. Eventually, yes, it might be possible, but with the way things are going, it will take years to have a hope of toppling the reign of oppression that's been forced upon them.

Right now, any hope to take Dooku down comes from the inside.

"Any move we make at this point will be minor—a mere hindrance to the Empire," she tells him seriously, studying her fingers rather than looking at him. They're soft and without calluses. How long will that last now that her life is probably going to involve more time holding a blaster and less holding a pen?

"With all due respect, a hindrance might be better than simply doing nothing."

"And by making a move, we'll likely deplete the scarce resources that we do have. I don't enjoy sitting back and waiting anymore than anyone else does, but I know that sometimes action just isn't productive."

Captain Typho slides his hands back to grip the railing. "You're risking morale. And, right now, that's not something we can afford to lose."

He's right. At the moment, they're just a band of diverse beings, brought together by their condemnation of the Empire. The people she's helping to lead aren't soldiers. They don't understand necessary waits. They see the injustice that's been forced upon them, and they want to do something _now_.

If the rebellion waits too long, they may find that they no longer have anyone waiting with them.

"If he doesn't have any suggestions this time, we'll begin planning as best we can with what we have," she allows finally, jaw tight and eyes closed. "But that will hardly matter, I think. If we do it that way it will be a long time before we have a viable option of attack. Years, I think." Still, at least it will be a sort of action. It's better than nothing, and for Force sake, she's _Senator Amidala. _She's a politician. She knows how to sell an idea. She'll just have to make the members of the rebellion believe enough in the planning to invest so deeply as to feel that they're doing something to fight back. She'll find a way to turn this into something good.

"Then I guess General Kenobi is going to have all the time he needs," Captain Typho replies. He shakes his head slowly, but he seems just as resigned to the truth of that as she is. He's always been a pragmatist, and though he's willing to challenge her, she knows he's on her side. He doesn't want to go in unprepared anymore than she does. "Why not begin planning now? Our people are restless."

"So have them continue with what they've been doing. Keep an ear to the ground. At the moment, the best thing anyone can do is to just listen. Little bits of information can win a war."

"Not everyone is in a line of employment that's conducive to that."

"Then try to find one that is. Besides, you never know what position might end up being valuable."

She doesn't have a better suggestion than that. It's not good enough, and both of them know it, but for the time being, it will have to pass as acceptable.

So desperately, Padme hopes Obi-Wan can give her something better.

* * *

"You never told me what happened to your face."

Groaning, Obi-Wan cracks open one sleep-encrusted eye. Goodness, his neck hurts. Why on the first night back from a trip didn't he take advantage of the fact that he could have slept in his own bed?

The answer: he ended up sleeping on the kitchen floor with Anakin.

He can't tell how long they stood leaning against the wall, both of them trying to come to terms with what could have happened. The possibility—it was too real, too much a viable future, and if things had gone just a little differently, Anakin might have become something truly evil. He might have become something Obi-Wan was sworn to destroy… and he might have tried to destroy Obi-Wan.

The nearness of that possibility works its way under both their skins like a persistent itch that they can't manage to scratch.

He doesn't know how much time passed before they finally slid to the floor, and he's not sure it's even truly relevant. All he knows is that at some point they ended up with backs to the wall, Anakin's head on Obi-Wan's shoulder, and too many issues to count. They didn't talk, but just sat there, both lost in entirely separate thoughts, but still as together as they needed to be.

Sometime in the night, Obi-Wan had fallen asleep.

Anakin must have too.

Oddly, they're still mostly in the same position: Obi-Wan is sitting up against the wall, and Anakin's head is on his shoulder. The only difference is that his own head has fallen on top of Anakin's, and they've both slumped down further, leaning into the other for balance.

"I ran into a wall," he says in answer to Anakin's query. It's a completely sarcastic answer, and if he really wanted to lie to Anakin, he's well aware that he'd make up a better excuse.

"No, you didn't."

He sighs. "No. Ididn't."

"Well?"

"I offended Dooku."

Anakin shifts a little against him, moving his head enough that his hair irritates the skin of Obi-Wan's cheek. Obi-Wan shifts to alleviate the itch, but the motion just reminds him of how much his neck hurts. What possessed them to sleep like this? His neck is going to have a crick for _weeks_.

"Master, he's _old._ I understand he's still an expert duelist, but in a fistfight you really should be able to take him."

"He had the significant advantage of a lightsaber."

"What, he drew his lightsaber and _then _punched you?"

Obi-Wan doesn't bother to reply. Anakin doesn't need verbal conformation.

"That's cowardly, even for him."

"So is tackling someone from behind and slamming them into the wall."

"You were a few trite lines short of having a certified temper tantrum. You deserved it."

That is certainly not how Obi-Wan would describe his less-than-flattering outburst. Yes, he was a bit nasty to Anakin when he came back from dinner with Dooku, but considering the information he'd been confronted with, it's somewhat understandable. It isn't _justifiable_, but he did at least have good reason to be upset.

"I wouldn't go so far as to say that. If I punched you at every time in your youth when you had something of an outburst, your cognitive functions wouldn't have made it to adulthood."

Anakin gives a half shrug against his side. "You gave me brain damage in other ways."

"Right," he drawls, giving up and just sighing. Of course he did. And in Anakin's mind the hours of meditation he made him do and the vegetables he made him eat were probably crimes against humanity.

"Why did we sleep on the floor?" Anakin asks after a few moments of silence.

Good question. "You tell me."

The floor is hard, cold, and unpleasant. Sometimes, Obi-Wan wonders if it's possible that they're both just losing their minds. Force knows they've both been under enough stress to make it plausible.

Apparently, Anakin doesn't have a decent answer either, because he just pauses and then mutters, "Forget it. I just want a shower."

"Good idea. I was wondering why you'd get around to that. Judging by the smell, it must have been quite some time. Truly, Anakin, you're twenty-three: when I leave you alone you should at least be self-sufficient enough to take showers."

"Funny."

Obi-Wan doesn't try to smother the small grin that pulls at his lips, and he takes a moment just to enjoy it. Painful cricks in the neck aside, there's something remarkably peaceful about just sitting here with Anakin. It's close, the exact opposite of the distance that would have pulled them apart if Palpatine had gotten his way. There's nothing dark about this. It's reassuring.

"Go on," he says finally, pulling away from Anakin and stretching out his cramped muscles. "I'll make breakfast."

Anakin leans back against the wall for a moment and then pushes himself up to a standing position. By the look on his face, his neck hasn't faired much better than Obi-Wan's. "Hotcakes?" he asks hopefully.

"If you like."

"Yes, please."

He gives Anakin a final nod before the boy heads off for the shower, leaving Obi-Wan alone in the kitchen. As much as he enjoyed the closeness of Anakin's presence a moment before, the time alone is also welcome. He needs to think—to process.

Without much thought he begins to get out the ingredients he'll need for breakfast. Hotcakes. Right. They've always been a favorite of Anakin's. Obi-Wan rather likes them, too—it's always been a good compromise for a shared breakfast meal.

Yet, even as he starts mixing ingredients, he can't quite settle the thought that if things had gone just a little differently, he might have eventually never eaten breakfast with Anakin again. Instead, he might have lost him to the dark, to a place where he was even further away than Qui-Gon. He might have lost him completely, and that leaves him with a chill that has nothing to do with the temperature of their apartments.

Of course, a physical confrontation doesn't outwardly seem like the best way to banish that chill.

Certainly his actions toward Anakin last night were uncalled for. A brawl in their kitchen is hardly in keeping with the standards set for Jedi Masters… yet, he feels better. He feels a lot better, like he's experienced some strange sort of catharsis.

A fistfight is a crude way to solve problems, but at the very least nothing gets held back. A fist to a face is the bluntest way you can tell someone how you feel. Anakin knows, Obi-Wan knows, they _both _know, and with those emotions out, they can talk a little more civilly, and with a bit more rationality. It's not that the emotions have vanished, but now there's no denying that they're there, and talking about problems is easier after having come to blows over them. They yelled and they've hit, so now they might as well talk. Everything is raw and exposed, and sometimes, that's the only way to see deep enough into the problem to really _fix _it.

Not that Obi-Wan is advocating random violence, of course. He doesn't believe in that… but he does believe in making the best of it once it's happened.

That's what they'll do now. It might be too late to mend the structure of their relationship, but sometimes fixing just means demolishing and building from the ground up… and one thing Obi-Wan is sure of: the foundation of his relationship with Anakin is solid. Whatever else Palpatine had done, he hadn't yet gotten to the base of their relationship. He may have torn at what they'd built on top of it until it was teetering dangerously, but he hadn't reached the foundation. Neither he nor Anakin had lost faith in the other—not yet. It would have happened. Obi-Wan is sure it would have, but it _didn't_.

They'll just make sure that, when they rebuild on top of that foundation, everything is stronger.

Sometimes, it takes a demolition to do that.

* * *

Dooku isn't quite certain what caused his slip in control.

He had gained the upper hand. He had Kenobi in exactly the position that he wanted him in. A display of anger so raw and unrefined as a physical blow should have pleased him. It was unpleasant to take a fist to the face, yes, but he should have recognized that, ultimately, it was a victory.

Instead, he'd given Kenobi back a measure of control by returning the blow.

Dooku has to admit, he's disappointed. He so hoped that Kenobi would see things his way… not that he's given up entirely. However, he can't force the man to accept the situation as it is, and if Kenobi will not, then Dooku will simply have to show Kenobi the truth in what he said: Kenobi will live with the situation he creates for himself.

If he will not willingly cooperate, Dooku will force him to do so, which will undoubtedly be far more unpleasant.

Already, the need for that is arising.

Dooku has sent the Separatist Council to Utapau in the Outer Rim. It's a good hiding place, to be sure, reasonably safe from rebel factions—not that Dooku has any intent to keep them there. They are a liability now, nothing more. They need to be eliminated.

And if Kenobi is going to be difficult, Dooku will not be magnanimous, either.

If Kenobi will not accept his demands, then he has no reason to be accommodating of Kenobi's morals. Perhaps he is even being generous as it is: it's not as though Kenobi views the Separatist Council as a body of good.

Still, Dooku is rather inclined to think that he will object to an execution order.

A pity, that. He will simply have to put aside his morals until he grasps the concept that Dooku will be far more respectful of his reservations should he agree to willingly cooperate. Until then, his reservations are irrelevant. If he likes Skywalker's head where it is on his shoulders, he'll do as he's told.

Of course, Dooku is aware that he needs to be mindful not to push _too _far. He suspects there are some things Kenobi won't do, even to save his apprentice. If he reaches that point, there will be only two remaining options: kill Skywalker or negotiate with Kenobi. If he does the former, he's lost all leverage; if he does the later, Kenobi won't believe he will truly make good on his threat to kill Skywalker, and Dooku will be forced to prove him wrong, at which point he, once again, loses all leverage. He'll need to tread carefully, finding ground where Kenobi won't find his orders so undoable that he will test the veracity of Dooku's threat.

It's a delicate situation.

Leaning back in his chair, Dooku skims his fingers across his computer console, inputting an order for a ship. He'll have Kenobi on the way to Utapau within a day or so.

Then, once he gauges the man's reaction, he'll reevaluate his plan from there.


	20. Chapter 19

**Disclaimer: **I own nothing.

**Feedback**: If you'd be so kind as to leave some, I'll do my best to reply.

**Notes:** ROTS AU.

yellow 14: I have to say, I always love giving Anakin lines about temper tantrums, considering just how many he basically threw in AOTC. Also, I like the idea about joining forces with the Separatist Council. I never considered that angle, and for reasons that will soon become obvious it's not going to work now, but, still, I really like it.

FireShifter: Thanks for reviewing. I appreciate it very much. And, yes, Dooku's actions are a bit worrying, aren't they?

Estora: What's so scary about Obi-Wan's fears is that, yeah, that's actually what went down in ROTS. _He _doesn't know that, but the readers do, and I was kind of counting on that. Funny that you should mention Dooku lopping off limbs: he won't actually do much of that, but, yeah, he'll threaten. And Obi-Wan is on Utapau to deal with the Separatist Council.

Mreeb: Please don't worry about spamming! I love getting spammed with reviews! I also adore that you give good feedback. Addressing the bit about sometimes over-describing: you're so right. I know I do that, and it just sort of happens. If I were editing more carefully, I'd probably catch it, but I'll admit that I don't always go over each chapter as carefully as a I could. Other than that, thanks for all the comments. I can't say enough how I love comments about what I'm writing. Thank you!

UndeniablyMe: Believe me, I always appreciate your reviews! And, no, this story isn't going to branch over the years. It might cover about a year's time, but I'm not going to do what I did in Fire and Ice and skip some years in between. Also, very good note on Dooku's potential weakness.

Pronker:Yes, Padme is going to have quite the dilemma balancing her duties… especially is she has to chose between keeping herself (and by extension the babies) safe or keeping Anakin safe.

ObiBettina7: Yes, Obi-Wan is in a _very _tough situation.

anakinpadmekenobi: I agree: Obi-Wan really doesn't have a reason to be angry at Anakin, but it's definitely easy to be sympathetic to Obi-Wan's position. And, yes, he is scared. For all that they're different, he and Anakin also seem to have a lot of likenesses that just get displayed in different ways.

charliebrown1234: Funny you should mention Obi-Wan blowing up a building, because, you know, he's eventually going to do that in this story. I won't say when, but I promise that he will.

Mo Angel: Yeah, I can't thank George Lucas enough for creating this characters. :)

* * *

It took Anakin scarcely more than a day to reconfigure the holovid player to a state of functionality. Though he and Obi-Wan don't have a large collection of holovids, they do have a few, and at this point, they're in need of any entertainment they can get. Live channels are no longer an option—the equipment needed to transmit that was used in making a bug.

So, holovids it will have to be.

"Really, Anakin, do you own any movies that have a legitimate plot? I refuse to watch another vid chronicling the exploits of a podracer and his rise to fame."

Honestly, Obi-Wan makes it sound so entirely pathetic, as if Anakin has the tastes of a small child. Worse, Obi-Wan is making him seem predictable… and Anakin doesn't really like being predictable. It's along the lines of an affront to his dignity.

"I suppose I should be thankful that you don't enjoy dramatizations of war."

That's really just a nice euphemism that means Obi-Wan is thankful that Anakin doesn't enjoy movies that were made more to appeal to the taste of citizens who still think war is something interesting that they want to see more of. Not personally, of course—no one would say they want a real war to stretch on longer—but when the battles are impersonal, just images, they enjoy the gore and grit. They enjoy what they think real war is like.

They've never had to live it.

When it's just images, you can rewind the vid, essentially bringing men back to life. There's nothing final about it. Yes, the plot can't ultimately be changed, but at the end of the movie, it's comforting to know that the dead were only characters. They don't exist. It's not personal.

For men who have been in real war—men like Anakin and Obi-Wan—it _is _personal.

Movies with senseless violence don't hold an appeal for them, not when every dead man dredges up memories of a fallen comrade, and not when every manner in which someone dies could eventually be their own end.

They see enough killing on the battlefield.

Best not to watch it on a holovid as well.

"We're not watching a boring documentary, either," Anakin shoots back in response to Obi-Wan's derogatory view of podracing holovids.

"Contrary to what you clearly believe, I don't often watch those for _fun_."

"Key word being _often_. Anyway, you could have fooled me. Is it just that you don't have a personal life, then?"

Obi-Wan's beard twitches as he frowns, mixing in a narrow-eyed glance of disapproval. "You know better."

"Master, going out for drinks to fish for information while we're on a mission doesn't count."

Disapproval turns to outright condemnation. When Anakin was younger, he used to wonder if Obi-Wan's face would get stuck like that. His mother had always told him it was possible, and at the tender age of nine, he was under the impression that she was never wrong and that she certainly never exaggerated the truth to her own advantage. It was a bit of a letdown when he eventually figured out that his paradigm of his mother didn't quite fit reality.

Really, he was just disappointed about all the things he could have kept doing if he'd known that the consequences he was promised didn't really exist.

"I do have friends other than you, Anakin, as you well know. And when I'm on Coruscant, we do engage in pleasurable pastimes."

"Uhuh. Group meditation? A club to discuss the dry readings of ancient dead people? Or do you really let loose and go to a public lecture on the importance of self-control in society?"

Obi-Wan fixes him with what Anakin has termed his you-are-wearing-my-considerable-patience-thin looks. He got those a lot when he was younger, and possibly more so during his teenage years. Obi-Wan really has that look down to a science. He ought to hold a class with the purpose of teaching aspiring masters how to perfect that expression. "That lecture was not for fun, Anakin—it was on behalf of the Jedi Council."

"You liked it."

Obi-Wan stops, breathing out slowly and studying Anakin as if wondering how to end his life with maximum efficiency and suffering. Then, slowly, the corner of his mouth twitches upward, just enough to barely move his beard. Not good. It's never good when Obi-Wan does that. "I also seem to recall a little boy who actually _enjoyed_ the unit in one of his classes on sewing."

"Hey! That's not fair! I liked it because Mom had already taught that stuff to me! That was the only class I was actually _ahead _in! Plus, obviously that was a useful talent if it was taught in a class on field skills! You know, mending clothes when we were in the middle of a battle and couldn't get new ones?"

"Mmhm, and self-control _isn't _useful?"

Why does he bother to get into verbal sparring matches with Obi-Wan anymore? He should really stick to just strictly physical sparring. In that, at least, he has a good chance of winning.

Obi-Wan just grins when Anakin doesn't reply.

"Look, the only other holovid we've got is one I was going to give to Padme. Unless you want to watch that, I suggest podracing." For emphasis, he snatches the holovid in question off the table and waves it flamboyantly in Obi-Wan's face.

"Oh, so you don't make _Padme _watch podracing?" he counters, catching Anakin's wrist and grabbing away the holovid. Immediately, he wrinkles his nose in distaste when he finally gets a look at the object in his hand. "You can't watch a documentary, but you can watch _this_?"

Okay, so the cover is a little pinker than he'd like, and there's people kissing on the front of it, and, yes, it really is altogether pretty awful. But if he wanted to be truthful, he'd just explain that watching a sappy, stupid movie with other people kissing in it is a small price to pay to make Padme happy, since that usually leads to some kissing for _him _after.

Maybe he doesn't have to explain after all. Obi-Wan tosses the holovid back like it's contaminated and just sighs. "Right. I shouldn't have asked. I really don't want to know your motivation."

No, he really doesn't. He'd turn all kinds of shades of red, and Anakin can't quite help the smile that rises at the thought.

Obi-Wan looks mildly stricken. "Fine. Podracing. _Fine_."

He grins. "Great!"

"Where did I go wrong?" Obi-Wan mutters, leaning back against the couch and dropping an arm over his eyes. Anakin's grin widens at the sight, because this is Obi-Wan being purposely theatrical, which means he's relaxed enough to joke. These are the times when his master is really a lot of fun. "I tried so hard."

"It's not your fault," he assures Obi-Wan as magnanimously as he can manage without giving into the laughter that's threatening. "I was already like this when you started training me."

"How reassuring."

This feels good. This joking, just playful and lighthearted and a world away from everything that's happened in the last few days. It won't last, Anakin knows, but as he starts a holovid of his choice—he really does love podracing vids—he finds that he appreciates what he has, even if he won't have it for very long.

Maybe Obi-Wan does too. Come morning, they're both going to have to focus on other less pleasant tasks again. How to get a bug on Dooku. How to contact Padme. How to fix this entire mess. None of it will be pleasant, none of it will be easy, and for the time being, sitting back and watching a video, needling Obi-Wan, and doing nothing more is exactly what he needs.

"Master?" he asks more seriously as he slides back onto the couch beside Obi-Wan.

Obi-Wan rolls his head to the side and glances at Anakin. "Yes?"

"I've missed this."

A tiny furrow creases Obi-Wan's brow. "Missed what?"

"Just… _this_. We haven't done this since the war started. We were never home together long enough to do this… and if we were, it just… didn't happen."

It didn't happen because the nights he was unoccupied on Coruscant, he spent with his wife. That's not wrong, and he certainly doesn't regret any moment he spends with Padme… but he misses relaxed moments with his master, the ones that don't have to do with war and strategy, with life and death, and with a million other things Anakin doesn't want to think about right now.

He thought that when the war ended, that lack of down time would change. He'd always thought things would go back to how they used to be. More relaxed, maybe. Still with missions and complications, but without the all-encompassing looming pressure of a war. He'd thought that the quiet times could truly be quiet again, and not just a time for thoughts and doubts to become so loud that he'd almost long for the clamor of the battlefield. He'd thought it would… just be comfortable again.

Obviously, he hadn't really thought practically about it… not until now.

And now he knows that nothing is ever going to be like it was.

"What's going to happen next?"

The furrow in Obi-Wan's brow deepens. "What?"

"When we find a way to take Dooku down, what do you want? What are you going to do?"

_Are we still going to work together? _he doesn't say. He'll never say that out loud, not when he hardly admits to himself the existence of the question in the first place. Up until a few days ago, he never had cause to wonder. Obi-Wan was just... Obi-Wan. He'd always be there. Always. Anakin never doubted that.

He doesn't like that he's doubting now.

"Anakin, you're getting far ahead of things. Focus on the here and now—"

"I just want to know," he says seriously, leaning forward a little and catching Obi-Wan's gaze, ignoring the opening sequence of the movie in the background. He hasn't really thought about this topic much, but now that he is, it's scaring him. To him, he and Obi-Wan would always be Jedi, brothers in arms, father and son, and just _friends_. They would always be a team. It never occurred to him to think otherwise.

"I haven't thought that far," Obi-Wan admits with a small shrug. There's a tiny bit of confusion beginning to work its way onto his face as he studies Anakin, almost as if he can't quite understand why Anakin is so suddenly asking questions like this.

Anakin can't help him in that respect. He's not convinced he's even sure himself.

"I just—I want to know what comes after, if we win."

"I can't tell you that. You'd be as much a part of it as I would."

"Would I?"

"Anakin, what are you trying to say to me?" he asks, blinking a few times and rubbing his chin. His tone is not quite sharp, but on its way there.

Anakin looks away. "Nothing. I just… I assumed the Order would always be here. I thought things would be like they were before the war started. You know, back to being keepers of the peace… but that's not going to happen, and I don't know what is. What are you going to do? Will I do the same thing you do?"

And Obi-Wan, with all the patience that has always been _Obi-Wan_, finally seems to hear what Anakin is not saying, and with that conclusion, he leans into the couch, watching Anakin quietly.

"Anakin?"

"Yes?"

"Do you remember that time on one of our early missions when you got lost in a cave and couldn't find me?"

"Yeah," he replies nodding. "I thought I was going to die."

"Yes, well, if I'd wanted to be rid of you, I would have simply left you there and saved myself many gray hairs."

Right. Suddenly, he finds himself grinning, even laughing a little, because that's not really an answer, but it _is_. It's the one he needs, anyway. Typical Obi-Wan. Not obvious, but reassuring when he needs to be; not promising anything, but still smoothing things over in a way that leaves Anakin feeling better.

"The gray hairs aren't from me. You're just old."

Still not too old to make a kick to Anakin's shin hurt, though. It's not as effective as Yoda's gimmer stick, but then, it probably wasn't meant to be. Yoda leaves bruises. "Watch your vid," Obi-Wan grumbles, crossing his arms and leaning further back into the couch.

For once, Anakin listens, plopping down on his own side of the couch and turning his attention back to the plot that, even he has to admit, is a bit unbelievable…. exactly like his own story. Maybe he just defies logic—Obi-Wan would tell him he's conceited for thinking that—but he likes to believe that makes the defiance of the plausible possible for others, too. Besides, the impossible is just something that no one has done yet.

What was that he told Qui-Gon about star systems? _I'm gonna be the first to see them all._

Just because it hasn't been done doesn't mean he can't do it.

It's that way with everything. Just because they haven't beaten Dooku yet doesn't mean they can't. It just means they _haven't_. He was just a little boy who hadn't finished a race, but when he won, he won _big_.

Likewise, when Dooku falls, Anakin is going to make sure he falls _hard_.

* * *

Anakin flinches when the covers are yanked off him sometime around mid-morning. The rush of cold air chills him, and he groans in displeasure, reaching out for the blankets that are no longer there. Instead, his fingers only scrape sheets.

"Give it back, Obi-Wan," he complains, still not opening his eyes. The world will still be just as messed up in another two hours, and it's not as though either of them have anything else to do today. Can't Obi-Wan just let him sleep in for once?

"It's noon, Anakin. Get up."

This is just cruel. Anakin hasn't slept well since Obi-Wan left, and he certainly didn't rest well the night before last when he'd slept on the kitchen floor. He needs the rest.

"Anakin, we have things to do. Things like planning how we're going to get a bug on Dooku."

Apparently, Obi-Wan thought the relaxation of the previous night was time enough off. "I did my part and built it. You figure it out." And do it quietly, please.

Obi-Wan still hasn't given him back the blankets, and he's _cold_. He would have put on more than sleep pants if he'd known Obi-Wan was going to do _this_. Just because his master thinks that Jedi should get up at an early hour—and, honestly, Obi-Wan has already let him sleep several hours later than usual—doesn't mean Anakin has to agree.

"It's not that cold, Anakin."

Obi-Wan never thinks it's that cold. He's not from _Tatooine, _where cold means the sand is just below sweltering. He has no idea.

"Fine, but I'll be sure to report to Padme that her husband was to lazy to be bothered with coming to her aid."

That's low. Really low, but it gets him moving. Glaring, he swings his legs over the side of the bed, watching as Obi-Wan folds up the blanket he stole. He lays it down on the end of Anakin's bed, smoothing out the lingering wrinkles with his hands. "Oh, and Anakin? The next time you want to sleep in my bed while I'm gone, at least have the courtesy to wash the sheets."

Then, he simply turns and walks out. Right, well, so much for not telling Obi-Wan about that. Though, he gets the feeling he's not going to be teased. For all of his sarcasm, Obi-Wan is remarkably understanding about things of that nature, and he knows what not to needle about. He has never mocked Anakin's nighttime terrors, not when he was a youngling and not now.

Two minutes later, Anakin immerges from the bedroom, still rubbing the sleep from his eyes.

Obi-Wan is already sitting at the table, wide awake and with a pot of caf brewed. He's probably been up for hours already.

"All right, Obi-Wan, what have you got?" he asks, running a hand through his sleep-mussed hair. Now that he's awake, his brain is starting to come back online, processing preliminary strategies. Hopefully, Obi-Wan will have some of his own.

Obi-Wan, who has likewise still not changed out of his sleep pants, rises from his chair and pours himself and Anakin two cups of caf before they both settle down at the table. "Right now, not much. Just theories."

"Give me your theories then."

"First of all, a transmitter won't be much good if we activate it while it's still in our apartment. Eventually, we both know Dooku will discover the bug, and if the signal can be traced back here, he'll know that I'm informing to someone."

Logical. "All right."

"It would be best if the information is transmitted straight to a source outside the Temple."

"Which would mean we'll have to wait until you go on another mission and can set this up with someone," he points out, leaning forward and stretching both his hands around his mug. The hard surface is warm, and he grips a little tighter, hoping the sensation will seep into the rest of his body.

Obi-Wan rests his ankle on the knee of his opposite leg as he leans back and nods. "Yes, that is a setback."

"Worth it, you think?"

"I think that if Dooku tracked the bug back here, you'd be lucky to keep your head. So, yes, I think the wait is worth it."

"Fair enough. Next point then: who will you give it to?"

He shouldn't have asked—Obi-Wan slightly raised eyebrow is answer enough. "Isn't there anyone other than Padme?"

"No one as competent."

"She's _pregnant_. She needs to stay safe, and this is not a safe job."

"Anakin, she'll be listening to incoming information. At least it will keep her off active missions."

Maybe. He can't argue with that. Still, he's not a fan of this. He'd be happier if Padme would just stay out of all this. If she gets hurt… he doesn't want to think about that. She can't get hurt. Anakin needs her, needs her and the baby to be all right, and _Force, _there's going to be a _baby_. He's going to be a father.

Suddenly, he wishes the caf Obi-Wan made had a little something extra in it.

So far, he's managed to keep thoughts of a baby out of his head. It's not that he doesn't want one… he just doesn't know if he's capable of being a father. A baby—it's a little life, a part of him and Padme combined, and that will truly be the most beautiful thing in existence. But beautiful things break, and babies are just so fragile. After everything he's done—all the blood on his hands—should he even be allowed to hold his child? What if he hurts it? He just… doesn't trust himself to be the father he should be.

"How are we even going to get the transmitter on Dooku?" he asks instead of voicing any of those thoughts.

A flash of a smile brightens Obi-Wan's face, and he glances up at Anakin from underneath the fringe of his bangs. There's something almost playful there, maybe even a little devious, and Anakin just _knows _he's going to like whatever Obi-Wan is about to suggest.

"Actually, I _do _have a plan for that."

"You look like you think I'm going to like it."

"It involves brute force, no subtly whatsoever, and the chance to physically harm Dooku. I _know _you'll like."

Well, when Obi-Wan puts it that way... "Details?" he asks expectantly.

Obi-Wan grins and starts explaining.


	21. Chapter 20

**Disclaimer: **I own nothing.

**Feedback**: If you'd be so kind as to leave some, I'll do my best to reply.

**Notes:** ROTS AU.

whimperling: Interesting point about their relationship being the only real sense of home they have left. I hadn't thought of things like that—I like the idea. I do have to disagree on Obi-Wan failing as a father, though. Yes, I think he made mistakes, but considering the circumstances, I think he did the best he could, and the things that ultimately made Anakin fall I don't believe were his fault.

yellow 14: Well, I can answer your question about what comes next with this chapter here.

Random Under the Sun: Haha, that's not hypocritical! I feel like doing that to everyone I ever review for, too. Waiting for the next bit of a story is never fun.

Pronker:Very true. Obi-Wan has always been his safety, but this is one step he's got to take all on his own.

ObiBettina7: Honestly, I'm still trying to figure out how I keep inserting moments of random fluff into this story. It just sort of happens.

anakinpadmekenobi: I always wish we got more of a look at how things went when Anakin first came to the Temple. I bet it was an interesting time. And, yes, Obi-Wan is headed for Utapau in the chapter after this one. So far, this story is 410 pages, and I'm almost done. So, I'd say around there.

Mo Angel: Oh, yes. Obi-Wan and Anakin take on Dooku in this chapter, then Obi-Wan takes a trip to Utapau in the next one. I know that this part is a bit slow—I knew that when I wrote it—but later parts didn't seem quite right without it.

* * *

They've been crouching by the door for over three hours now. Though, in actuality, that's not nearly as bad as it sounds: they could potentially be here for a lot longer. Sooner or later, Obi-Wan knows, Dooku is going to want to speak with them. The reasoning doesn't matter. He might desire an extended debrief, or he may simply be curious about how he and Anakin are acting now that Obi-Wan is back. It's hard to tell with Dooku.

And it doesn't matter.

All that matters is that they're ready when he comes.

That's not easy. Cloaking their intentions in the Force in order to prevent Dooku from detecting a warning in the Force, remaining alert when it's so tempting to let focus wander—it takes discipline, and even for a fully trained Jedi, this is one of the ultimate exercises in patience.

The one thing that makes it a little more bearable is that there's no need for silence. They need to be completely without conversation—they don't want Dooku to hear them as he approaches the door, but their voices won't carry that far unless they're careless.

So, they sit, waiting, backs pressed to the wall for hours on end.

"Do you think this actually has a chance of working?" Anakin whispers.

The obvious goal of this plan doesn't have much chance of success. That was never the point. The point lies in what is far less obvious, in what that failure might gain them. Still… "It would be nice if it did."

"That wasn't what I asked."

He rolls his head back against the door and fixes Anakin with his best expressionless stare. "Fine, Anakin, no, I don't think this has a high chance of success. Do you feel better now?"

He shrugs, casually, like what they're about to do isn't one of the craziest things they've ever tried. Though, it's _Anakin_—the potential for disastrous failure is probably what's making him smile. "Nothing we ever do has a high chance of success."

"Anakin, the main point of this plan isn't the obvious success."

"Well, you never know," he replies simply, like it's just that easy.

Does this boy ever listen? That _isn't the main point_. "Yes, I suppose."

Anakin is bored—Obi-Wan can pick that up in the way he shifts a little against the wall, shoulder blades rising and falling like he's scratching an itch. It's really nothing more than energetic fidgeting.

Twenty-two and still fidgeting like a youngling. Lovely.

"Don't look at me like that. You're as bored as I am. You just hide it better."

Perhaps, but he's clearly not as good at concealing his thoughts as he is his boredom. Though, apparently Anakin guessed at both… and Obi-Wan _is _bored.

The sound of someone outside the door indicates that's about to change.

Wonderful timing. It always is when he and Anakin are involved.

"Look sharp," he mutters, chancing a quick sideways glance at Anakin.

Every trace of boredom has slipped off Anakin, rolling away as easily as he usually dispenses his opinions. Already he's back against the wall, pressed tight, tensed and waiting for the moment when the door will slide open. In the space of less than a few seconds, he has gone from playful and almost childish to a man prepared to kill, and to do it with the skill and lethality that his training as a general has given him. Anakin is ready.

Obi-Wan is the same.

And three, two, one… _go._

The moment the door opens, he and Anakin are rolling off the wall, out the door and at Dooku. They have no weapons. They have nothing but surprise on their side. The odds are overwhelmingly against them, but all they need is a small break. Just a tiny one.

Obi-Wan gets what he's looking for.

Anakin's fist to Dooku's face sends the man flying back, and though his hand is already on his lightsaber the moment he hits the ground, it's just enough time for Obi-Wan to reach out, grabbing under the pretense of causing harm, but really more for the purpose of slipping the transmitter Anakin built onto the bottom of Dooku's boot, in the gap between the small heel and the flat where it won't be crushed when Dooku walks.

The harm he causes when he twists Dooku's ankle a moment later is only a desirable side effect.

He feels muscles pull under his hands, grinding; he hears Dooku gasp in pain, almost in time with Anakin's grunt as he goes straight for Dooku's throat, hand pinning against his windpipe, holding him down while his other hand pins Dooku's saber hand. For just a moment, Obi-Wan dares to think that maybe—just maybe—they have a chance of physically winning this fight.

The blaster bolt that hits Anakin in the shoulder a moment later changes his mind.

"Anakin!" Too late. Already Dooku has his lightsaber in hand, pushed to Anakin's shoulder, igniting it like it doesn't matter. Without even a second thought.

This time, Anakin's grunt whispers off into a gasp, a nasty sound of shock as Dooku just holds the blade there, lips curled in a snarl. He's letting it burn its way through Anakin's shoulder. The smell—it's horrible, nauseating, and Obi-Wan lunges forward, intending to just do _something_, but is pushed back when Dooku gives Anakin a harsh shove with the Force, sending him sliding back off the blade and smashing into Obi-Wan, throwing them both to the ground.

There's no blood. The wound is cauterized. Right from the start Obi-Wan knows that, but when his hand goes up to check, he finds that he can almost slide a finger _into _the wound. His fingers come away blackened, coated with the ash of Anakin's charred skin.

Anyone who had seen less active combat would vomit. As it is, Obi-Wan is tempted.

"I think I'm hurt," Anakin mutters, letting Obi-Wan take his weight. He's blinking slowly, head falling back against Obi-Wan's neck and shoulder as Obi-Wan settles him against his chest, assessing the damage.

"Well-spotted," he answers reflexively, and Anakin just _smiles, _like he finds the sarcasm comforting.

"Good job, Master."

This isn't worth it. Anakin just took a lightsaber through his shoulder, and Obi-Wan's fingers are blackened from the charred flesh, but Anakin is telling him _good job, _just because he got a bug on Dooku's shoe. That isn't worth any of this. That's his attachment talking. He knows it is, but there's sweat beading on Anakin's forehead from the pain, and this wound is _serious—_

"Do you really think I would be so neglectful as to not post a guard at your door?"

Right, there's still Dooku to deal with. And the three clones behind him. Of course.

Looking up, Obi-Wan meets a pair of furious eyes. "One can hope."

He's not hoping now. The pure rage he's seeing there—probably from the fact that they managed to get the upper hand, if only for a moment—does not make him anticipate a peaceful resolution. There is some satisfaction to be had in the bruise rising on Dooku's cheek, but it's not nearly enough to outweigh the other consequences. "You're not this desperate, Kenobi," Dooku says, almost spitting the words. "This is badly planned, a last resort. Pathetic. I expected better."

Good. Hopefully that bug he planted will live up to those expectations. "Sorry to disappoint."

Dooku's lightsaber is still ignited, steady in his hand as he moves forward. The movement is almost fluent, like a deadly kind of dance. Every moment makes Obi-Wan's sense of the Force prickle in warning, because Dooku's eyes are on Anakin.

"I have a job for you," Dooku says simply, sauntering closer. Obi-Wan's gaze falls to the red blade, and he unconsciously grips Anakin a little tighter, cheek pressed against Anakin's temple. He can feel the cold sweat there… and Anakin—he just lies still, breathing shallowly. That's not good, because Anakin never just _lies _anywhere. He's always moving, always fighting, unless he just can't.

"I rather think I'm a bit occupied right now."

The blade rushes forward, stopping a few inches from Anakin's face. It's not far from Obi-Wan's, either, but it's clear who it's pointed at. The threat is all for Anakin.

A threat like that is simply too close to reality: feeling the imminent danger—this will be finished with just a slip, easily created by anger—in Dooku's action, Obi-Wan pulls Anakin closer against his chest, shifting his head until it rolls back against Obi-Wan's shoulder, further away from the blade. As carefully as he can, he turns his head until his cheek is pressed against Anakin's face, shielding him from Dooku… and putting himself closer to the blade. If Dooku slips now, it won't be Anakin whom he hits first.

"When you arrived here, you told me you weren't a father," Dooku says slowly. Every word is deliberate, and Obi-Wan feels the hair on the back of his neck and on his arms rise at the malice in the tone. "Prove yourself right. Refuse what I am telling you. Allow me to kill him, and I'll let you walk free."

Anakin presses his face into Obi-Wan's neck a little more firmly. At this point, Obi-Wan doubts he even knows he's doing it. Force, he needs a healer. _Now. _"That has nothing to do with being a father. No Jedi abandons his partner."

Easily, Dooku smiles, smooth and knowing. "No. Of course not." He pauses, simply watching with dark eyes. "I wish for you to go to Utapau and remove the remaining members of the Separatist council. Eliminate them."

"I'm a Jedi, not an executioner."

One eyebrow arches, and his gaze trails back down to Anakin, sweeping over him as if he's calculating just how much he can hurt him before he delivers the final killing blow. There are, after all, so many ways to cause a man pain.

Already, Obi-Wan knows he's going to lose this.

"You'll learn to be, or I'll demonstrate the proper technique."

He will. He'll kill Anakin. Obi-Wan knows he will. If he does, he'll lose all power over Obi-Wan, and Obi-Wan _knows _that, but Dooku is finally playing his hand. He's risking everything and relying on the belief that Obi-Wan won't play the hand that hehas. He won't sacrifice Anakin.

And he's right: Obi-Wan knows he has to fold.

Because he can't let Dooku kill Anakin… and Dooku _knows _that.

"Are you still just a Jedi, Master Kenobi?" he asks in a tone laced with mocking. "Not a father?"

He doesn't reply. Instead, he just meets Dooku's gaze and tries not to feel terribly disgusted with himself. He can't let that show… but he knows Dooku sees it. He can almost see his own image reflected in that smug smile and in the way Dooku's eyes are glittering. They both know who's lying right now.

It isn't Dooku.

"He needs a healer," Obi-Wan says softly, finally looking away and raising a hand to gingerly touch Anakin's wound again. He feels so sick. Sick at the sight of the wound. Sick at himself. Sick at the situation.

"He'll get one."

"I want to make sure he's taken care of before I go."

He's sure Dooku is going to say no, just to be spiteful. Yet, somehow, oddly, Dooku pauses, apparently considering, and then finally, after a few moments, gives a small nod. Perhaps it's because he's gotten what he wants. It's possible he just wants to solidify the attachment that's winning him his victory. Obi-Wan doesn't know.

And, uncharacteristically, he doesn't care to analyze it.

"You'll see him tended to. And then you will leave for Utapau."

"Just get him a healer," he snaps, glaring. It's useless. He's already lost. He might as well act like it. It's nothing but posturing to pretend otherwise.

Force, and he accuses _Anakin _of having pride.

Again, Dooku's face twists in a smirk, but he only nods. Obi-Wan should be pleased that the man is doing what he wants, but he can feel Dooku's intentions, and Obi-Wan knows that this small illusion of power is nothing more than a cruel mockery—a reminder of the real power he no longer has.

Anger ripples along through him, but Obi-Wan looks away and holds Anakin steady until someone takes him, transferring him to a stretcher instead. He sees all of it, watches to make sure Anakin is getting the care he needs, but all he can focus on is the sense that this didn't _have _to happen—that Dooku has destroyed so much.

And Obi-Wan hasn't stopped him.

Instead, he's clung to the light, like he should, like he's been _taught_, but there's a nagging feeling inside of him—a persistent itch as he watches Anakin's eyes flutter when a medic injects him with what's probably a mild sedative—that says those beliefs are only an excuse. Maybe he just wasn't strong enough to do what he needed to do in order to stop all of this. He was too concerned with the personal cost to himself.

Worst of all, he can feel his anger clinging to him, anchored in those thoughts, and in his fear for Anakin.

It's all wrong, but he's tired, _too _tired, and so he just walks after the stretcher, trying not to feel. It's better that way. It stops the darkness.

He purposely doesn't think about how it also stops the light.

* * *

Dooku understands guilt. It's something that clings unavoidably with the dark side, almost as persistently as anger. Its only redeeming quality is that it can bring strength as effectively as anger can.

It can also tear a man down.

It is his hope that once Kenobi's foundations have been torn away, he can be built back up. Not now, however. Now, he's too mired in that guilt.

Such guilt. Guilt for what has happened to his apprentice, to the part he played, and likely for everything else too, because that's what Kenobi does. He takes everything on his shoulders—makes himself responsible for all that he's involved in. Guilt like that pulls a person apart and leaves them emotionally bare. No one has ever stopped him from doing that to himself, because he is Master Kenobi, and he always seems strong enough. So foolish. No one is that strong. It's only a matter of how well they hide their weakness.

It's a wonder the Jedi have survived this long. They simply can't _see_. They overlook so much, claim to be clinging to the light, but what they don't notice is that there are _so many _avenues to the dark side.

Even guilt.

"Master?" Skywalker mumbles, rolling his head to the side as he turns toward the familiar presence he can feel in the Force. "Obi-Wan?" he slurs, blinking unnaturally slowly in what is clearly an effort to fight the effects of the drugs. He's failing—it's clear that he's groggy, and his gaze is unfocused, but he still feels Kenobi's presence in the Force.

Kenobi settles his hand on Anakin's forehead, gently, with a kind of care that's fascinating. It's a strong touch, entirely different from what Skywalker must have known from his mother, but the way the boy turns into it, eyes fluttering closed again, proves that it's just as reassuring.

Skywalker just came out of surgery, the first of what will be more than a few. The lightsaber burned into the muscle of his shoulder, and while it can be repaired, it's going to take more than just some time in a bacta tank. The damage wouldn't have been so extensive if Dooku had pulled the blade out immediately: it was how he left it in, charring flesh, muscle, and a bit of bone that was most serious. Still, Skywalker will use his arm again. It will take time—probably not long enough to suit Dooku—but he'll return to form eventually.

Tucking his hands behind his back, Dooku smiles bitterly. Pity he didn't keep that blade in just a little longer.

"Anakin," Kenobi says quietly, his free hand going to the side of Skywalker's face, titling it back so that when Skywalker forces his eyes open again, he's already positioned to look at Kenobi. "I want you to listen to me, all right?"

A few slow blinks. "Sure," he murmurs.

It's impossible to tell why Kenobi is even bothering, at least beyond the need to simply say what he's thinking. That's the only plausible explanation—Kenobi can't truly expect a response, not when Skywalker is so lost in a haze of drugs. Kenobi has to know that the chances of Skywalker remembering this are slim to none.

"Good. I have to leave. But I'll be back, all right?"

Skywalker's brow furrows, and his lips purse in a small expression of discontent. "Obi-Wan—" Clumsily, he reaches out, fingers colliding with the bed rail, but finally working their way along to Kenobi's wrist. His grip looks weak, but Kenobi isn't trying to shake him off, so it doesn't much matter. "Get Padme?"

He's silenced when Kenobi lays his free hand on the boy's uninjured shoulder. His fingers flex, not much, but enough that Skywalker's brow wrinkles and he stops talking. Still, that's interesting. Padme? Amidala? She was on Geonosis. Is Skywalker living a memory?

"Master, you can't go—"

"I'm very proud of you," Kenobi says quietly, leaning over the bed, probably in hopes that Dooku won't catch what he's saying. Dooku does, just barely, but that's hardly the point—the point is that Kenobi is running the risk of being heard at all. Curious that this is so important that it _must _be said. "You're good, Anakin. You are. Please, don't let that go, all right?"

"Proud of me?" he mutters, finally releasing Kenobi's wrist, though his fingers linger sluggishly.

Kenobi's now-freed hand settles gently on Skywalker's other shoulder, holding him steady and keeping his attention. It's honestly quite a feat that the boy's attention has remained for this long. Yet, somehow, he's keeping his eyes on Kenobi's face. It's clear in his glassy eyes and unfocused stare that he's having trouble processing, but he's trying, and Dooku has to admit that he finds that most interesting.

"Yes, Anakin."

Skywalker swallows. "Shouldn't be."

Kenobi's fingers tighten for just a moment, and he leans a bit further over the bed. "I didn't say I was proud of everything you'd done. I said I was proud of _you_."

"I—" he pauses, his nose twitching mildly as he scrunches up his face, "my head hurts, Master. Don't say stuff like that when I can't think right. Just tell me how 'm wonderful… and… 'splain later."

Yes. That sounds like Skywalker. Dooku finds the presumption disgusting, but then, he finds most things about Skywalker to be irritating. It's not the same with Kenobi: a shadow of a smile casts over his face, and he sighs, though there's nothing frustrated about it. It's almost… fond. "Humble as always," he replies quietly. Then, slowly, he brings one hand up to lightly pat Anakin's cheek, thumb brushing lightly over the cheekbone. "Try to sleep this off."

Skywalker doesn't make any move to shake off the touch. "Be here when I wake up?"

"I doubt I'll be back yet."

"I—what?" He looks as though he finds it entirely unbelievable that Kenobi won't be there. Goodness, this boy is spoilt. Jedi don't expect things like that. They shouldn't need it. "Master—I—won't you be back?"

"I'm going to come back, Anakin. I promise."

And just like that, Skywalker believes it. His eyes flutter closed, and he nods against Kenobi's palm, as though it's truly that simple. He doesn't ask for proof. Dooku would. No matter how close the person was to him, he would want more than just simply their word. But Skywalker accepts what Kenobi says without any of that. Just a simple nod.

Kenobi doesn't pull back from the bed until it's obvious that Skywalker is asleep. Then, even when he does, he goes about it slowly, hand slipping away and over Skywalker's shoulder, fingers catching on the bandage there, as though he's trying to lodge everything about the scene in his memory. It's understated, so Kenobi, and oddly touching. It's affection that isn't overt, and a kind of trust that's binding.

Dooku understands none of it… and he's a bit surprised to realize that he wishes he did.

As quickly as it comes, he pushes the desire away. It has no place here. That kind of maudlin thinking will only make him weak.

"If you're quite finished," he says coldly as Kenobi turns to face him, "there is a ship waiting for you in the hangar."

Kenobi shoulders twitch back, the only indication that he's even considering defiance. Though, Dooku suspects it's nothing more than wistful thinking. Skywalker is too much a reminder of what he has to lose. "I need to get my things."

"You'll have them brought to you." Not because he believes Kenobi can do anything if he returns to his apartment, but merely because he knows it will irritate Kenobi to have someone else pack for him.

Obviously, it does, though the nearly unnoticeable tightening under Kenobi's eyes is the only indication. "Fine." He turns then, moving toward the door. There's a sense of need in him, of a desire to look back at the man in the bed, but he checks it, and if Dooku wasn't so attuned to his mood, he'd wonder if it was truly there at all.

But he doesn't wonder. He knows it is.

"Master Kenobi."

Kenobi pauses just in front of the doorway, feet planted a shoulder width apart, like he's preparing for a blow. "Yes?"

"You will remove all of them. I want them eliminated."

Oh, Kenobi doesn't like that. The pain and discomfort—the sheer _conflict_—is boiling just under the surface in the aura he's exuding, even in his physicality: under his tunic, it's possible to see the bunching of his muscles, seizing up into a maze of stress. Dooku watches the play of the cloth speculatively, wondering just how far he can push.

But this isn't truly about that.

Kenobi has a job to do.

Dooku needs to insure that he'll do it.

"Do you understand?"

A soft breath that Dooku isn't sure even truly occurred, and then, "Yes."

"Good."

The door does not shut harder than it needs to. Kenobi does not storm out. There are no angry words. He simply leaves… and Dooku is left behind, watching, smiling, but not feeling any emotion driving that smile. He should be happy. With any luck, he'll push Kenobi directly into a position he thought he wanted him in. He's one step closer to making Kenobi a man like himself.

And he has no reason not to want that. He should not feel any hesitation at that prospect. He should not feel an odd itch that feels suspiciously like regret for what he's about to destroy.

But he is a master of his emotions, and he locks them away almost before they begin.

Kenobi _will_ join him, regardless of how _either_ of them truly feels about that prospect.


	22. Chapter 21

**Disclaimer: **I own nothing.

**Feedback**: If you'd be so kind as to leave some, I'll do my best to reply.

**Notes:** ROTS AU.

SodapopXPonyboylover: Not sure about the yellow eye thing, although it's a very good point. Thanks so much for reviewing and all the kind words! :)

Mreeb: I so agree with your comment about an honest villain: they are scarier. And I know just what you mean when you say you can trust what he says but not _him_. You know, if you don't mind, I might eventually work that line into the story at some point. Would that bother you? And thanks so much for taking the time to go back and review! You have no idea how much I appreciate it!

FireShifter: I'm afraid that I can't give you answers about Obi-Wan quite yet. I will say, though, that this chapter here isn't the end all of his struggle against the dark side.

ilovenat1995: Sadly, for the time being, Dooku has to stay alive. I wouldn't have a villain if I killed him off, and then I'd have to stop writing. :)

Tosharino: Very true—they're both in lots of trouble.

whimperling: You're right—Luke probably would try. Interesting how not being raised a Jedi made him like that… it definitely shows there were flaws in Jedi teaching. About Obi-Wan, though: you're right, with his upbringing, he won't be so inclined to do that.

yellow 14: Obi-Wan rationalizes it pretty well. But, trust me, the mental fallout for him is going to be MAJOR.

Random Under the Sun: Haha, that's not hypocritical! I feel like doing that to everyone I ever review for, too. Waiting for the next bit of a story is never fun.

Pronker:Yeah, Obi-Wan did pay the bigger price… and no matter what the Separatists do, Obi-Wan is going to have a lot of mental backlash from what he's about to do.

ObiBettina7: Oh, yeah, Padme is going to show up.

anakinpadmekenobi: Very good point about Obi-Wan's willingness to concede. He's being slowly worn down. And, yeah, Dooku is kind of sad in a sort of pathetic way, isn't he?

gurnius: Unfortunately, Padme only got a tip that Obi-Wan is heading to Utapau. She had no idea what he was doing there, or that the Separatist Council was there. Thanks for the review!

Jedi Angel001: Unfortunately, Yoda died, so no help will be coming from that source.

not paranoid enough: So, so true, and it's something that always made me laugh a little. People always did underestimate Obi-Wan, even people like Anakin (aka, final fight on Mustafar). Of course, it's pretty stupid to underestimate _either _of them. I'm glad you don't find the slower bits boring: I know they lack action, but I feel like I need them to make the action meaningful.

UndeniablyMe: To me, I feel like I'm actually slow updating! I've got most of the story written, so it's just a matter of editing. And, no, Dooku doesn't know everything: he doesn't know about the bug yet. Unfortunately, I can't promise you anything about Obi-Wan, but at least know that what happens to him in this chapter isn't a promise that he's irrevocably dark. Anakin won't be pleased.

Random Under the Sun: Eh, darn that to/too! Thanks for catching it.

* * *

Utapau. It's a giant sinkhole in the Outer Rim, unremarkable in just about every way. That's likely why Dooku sent the Separatist Council here. Obi-Wan doesn't really care to speculate on whether or not he sent them here with the intention of making this their graveyard, or whether he simply decided after they'd arrived that it would be a convenient location for a mass murder. It doesn't matter. The later would only mean he was hoping to make things less messy by having them killed somewhere out of the way; the former would be a successful attempt to conceal their location for their temporary safety.

Either way, it's irrelevant: clearly, their safety is no longer Dooku's priority.

Obi-Wan's journey here was not pleasant. He spent the majority of it at the controls—not that he needed to do much navigating. He probably should have taken the opportunity to sleep, but Force knows he couldn't, not with so much spinning in his head. And meditating? He's not even sure he _wants _answers, because what if those answers tell him something he doesn't like? Something that might mean Anakin's life.

His mind seems to be compensating for his lack of reasoning and meditating: he's got the headache to end all headaches, as if the universe is punishing him for not using his given mental faculties the way they should be used. Stepping off the ship into the arid atmosphere of this world doesn't help: the heat only makes his head pound harder.

His fingers skitter over his lightsaber, and he looks to the sky, wondering vaguely whether Padme will show up. She said she'd be tracking him. And if she does? What then? What does he tell her?

Part of him wonders if he shouldn't just take his lightsaber and drive it through his own heart right now. Because what he's about to do? It's everything he doesn't believe in, and no matter how much he's tried to rationalize it—tried to convince himself that the Separatists deserve what they're about to get—he can not escape the fact that he's about to carry out a pre-meditated execution.

He's about to kill when he could prevent doing so. This isn't war. This is an unjustified execution. Whatever crimes these beings have committed, it's not for him to be the sole judge. But he can't sacrifice Anakin for them. He just can't. If these people were innocent civilians, maybe, but they're _not_. Whether or not they've been convicted, he knows they've committed crimes that they deserve to pay for, and he can't conceive of throwing Anakin's life away for them. Is it attachment to not want to trade Anakin's life for those of murderers and criminals, or is it simply common sense?

What he's doing—and whatever his reasons—it's an unjustified planned slaughter that has an alternative, and that can never be right.

What he's about to do will have consequences, and with all his being, he prays it will only be consequences for _him_. Only him. Not the galaxy. Not Anakin. Not anyone but himself. If the fallout only affects him, then that will be acceptable. He'll ruin his own life. That—he can live with that. He can sacrifice himself, but please, not others. Just him.

He can't grasp the finer shades of why. He's here—he can't avoid the situation—but the Force's will is beyond him. Surely it could have led a different way? Why does the Force will for the dark side to triumph like this? Why? Why isn't there a different path? Something else he can do? What is the _why_ in this situation, and how has it gotten so lost in shades of light and dark and things he can't understand?

All his life, he's trusted in the Force. He's believed in the light to save him, to have its will be done. Only, he thought the Force's will was always good. But what if it's not? What if the will of the Force is for him to ultimately turn to the dark? What then? Can he stop that? He doesn't believe he can stop the Force, no matter what he might do.

And there's no denying he's considered trying. Removing himself completely, that is. The Force can't use him if he's dead.

It's an indulgent plan, and he knows that well enough not to truly consider it.

Suicide might halt Dooku's plans, but it will effectively condemn Anakin. He can't run. That would have the same result. All of it has the same result. He's hit a dead end, been backed into a corner, and as he ascends to the tenth level where Dooku said the Separatist Council would be, the frustration almost overwhelms him. He's not used to being helpless, but in this, he _is_.

Force, and he's about to _kill. _He's about to murder, and it turns his stomach, crunches his insides until he can hardly breathe, and why can't it be possible for him to just _end _this? A nice, quick way to go. A lightsaber to his heart? His brain? He'd be saving lives… just not the life he wants. Anakin has got to live. He's got too much to live for.

And if Obi-Wan has to throw away his own life—or, more importantly, his own principles—to ensure that, he will.

He will make sure it's only his own life he's ruining. He will. That—he just has to believe that.

Tenth level now. He can feel the scratch of the gravel under his feet, parched and dry from lack of rain. It's hot here, but he pulls his hood over his face. Cowardly? Maybe, but he doesn't want them to see his face. It's a small protection. He could be anyone—a faceless murderer. Does he truly have to be Jedi Master Obi-Wan Kenobi? Not now… and maybe never again.

Crouching down, his fingers scrape dirt as he steadies himself, forcing the earth up and under his nails, almost until it hurts. There's something welcome about the pain. Anything not to concentrate on the sound of the voices in the room below. They're not trying to be quiet. Why should they? No one will hear them on this Force-Forsaken planet. No one but him.

He closes his eyes.

He can still turn back. There's time. No one is dead yet, and intent—it's not anything until it's been turned into action. He hasn't touched the dark side yet, not since Qui-Gon died, and he doesn't _have _to.

He knows what the Council would tell him. They would tell him this is attachment… and they would be correct. They would tell him that what he's about to do will never solve anything—will only lead to destruction. But the council—they can't _know. _Many of them have had padawans, yes, but never padawans like Anakin. They don't know what it is to have a child that's not a Jedi, to care for a boy who cares back in a way that is _different_. Anakin—he always cared too much, and Obi-Wan did too. They were a bad pair in that respect. Attachment prone and attachment prone, thrown together. Obi-Wan avoided it, controlled it, but in the end—well, it doesn't matter. He will not destroy the lives of innocents for Anakin. He cannot. But these Separatists—they have blood on their hands. They're not innocent. They deserve to die.

That doesn't mean he should be the one to kill them. It simply means he can justify it. Useless? Yes, because justification will only satisfy others. He still knows it's wrong. He still knows he's destroying himself.

And because it is only himself—himself and a guilty party—he will do it. No innocents. No civilians. No one, he thinks, tipping his head back and breathing deeply, trying to control the mad beating of his heart, but _himself_.

_Kill me, please. When this is over, just kill me._

One foot forward, a slight lurch, then a shifting in the Force so black that his head spins as he jumps, falling, landing. They turn to look at him, eyes wide and surprised, almost blank. Force, they look stupid. _Indulged_, like the rich fools they are, preying on others. They just stare. He looks back, motionless for a moment, lightsaber still on his belt. It's the last moment. The last moment he's himself.

_Please, forgive me_.

He doesn't remember anything after the first swing.

* * *

Anakin wakes to the aftermath of Geonosis. The scent of charred flesh, even after the injury has been cleaned, gives it away. The burning never stops. Dooku… did something. Hurt him somehow, and the burning…

"Obi-Wan?" he calls. Padme? Where's Padme. He can ask for Obi-Wan, but not for Padme, because no one can know. But where's Obi-Wan? "Master?"

He hurts. His shoulder burns, and any movement is ill advised… or it would be if someone like Obi-Wan were here at his bedside to advise him. That duel, Dooku lopping off his arm—his _arm_. Not his shoulder. Not—oh, again. It's happened again.

He remembers.

"Where is he?" he mutters, forcing his eyes open, already knowing that Dooku will be there. He's too tired and soaked with pain to think on _how _he knows. He simply does. Accept. Don't question. Not now.

"He already informed you that the likelihood of him being present when you awakened was… less than favorable."

Though he's likely been waiting for some time for Anakin to awaken—and Force only knows why he bothered to keep a twisted version of a vigil—Dooku doesn't sit or even lean on a convenient support. Something about him demands rigidity, and it extends to his physicality: he stands straight, a vision of near-perfect posture. If not for the minute slump of relaxation in his shoulders and the way he's folded his arms, he could easily pass at a military inspection.

"What'd you do to 'im?" Anakin mutters, shifting in bed and immediately hissing at the discomfort that brings. His shoulder. Dooku burned a hole in it. Sadistic bastard.

"Master Kenobi is merely furthering my cause. I do believe you are familiar with the bargain we agreed upon in order to insure your continuing good health?"

His good health? Injured or not, he can't help but sneer at that. "We laid you out like the old man you are. Nice right hook I've got, huh? And Obi-Wan? Bet your ankle took some healing." Coherence—_true _awareness—is still a bit beyond Anakin, but it's trickling back as he clings to the Force to help him grasp it. The pure pleasure of what he and Obi-Wan accomplished is even better for that than the Force, actually. There's no way he'll ever forget the look on Dooku's face when he and Obi-Wan physically got the better of him, at least until Dooku drew his lightsaber. "No, you wouldn't let us do that. You have to prove just how s-_superior_ you are. Re-uh-reassert your _authority."_

Right. Maybe he's not as coherent as he hoped. Someone with their wits about them wouldn't provoke their enemy when they were in such a compromised position to begin with.

Then again, Obi-Wan would probably argue that has more to do with Anakin being _Anakin _than it does with any sort of loss of coherence.

Dooku hardly gives him enough satisfaction for his trouble. A mild twist of his lips and a shade of disgust is really not as grand a reaction as Anakin hoped for.

"Reassert? Look around you, Skywalker," he all but sneers, "At the moment, I could kill you before you realized I was doing so."

Ah, well, that's not so encouraging.

"Physically, maybe. But you kill me, you lose control. By letting me live, you gave me power. As long as I have my life, I have power over _you_, because we both know I'm the only thing making Obi-Wan even pretend to listen to you."

"I assure you, he's not pretending."

"Do you ever get tired of these sorts of conversations? Trying to best your enemy in something even as small as just talking. That's… really pretty sad. You're so insecure that you have to verbally get the better of someone who's high on drugs. You went out of your way to be here, just so you could." Oh, yeah, whatever painkillers he got? They're good. _Really _good. He's surprised he's even making this much sense.

For all of his intelligence, Dooku apparently hasn't considered things quiet like that. He wouldn't slip with his control if he had, his face almost twitching as conflicting emotions fight for the dominance of facial expression. Most likely, he's not used to being described in a way that's quite so unflattering—at least not a way that _he _hasn't thought of first. Crazy, power-hungry, dark—he's considered all of those in his own mind, but insecurity is clearly something he hasn't mulled over.

"Did Kenobi tell you that?" he asks slowly, his face reverting back to its customary scowl. His fingers flex minutely, but he doesn't reach for his lightsaber. Not yet. "That attempting to best your opponent simply for the sake of doing so is born from insecurity?"

"Sure. When he wanted to make certain I knew that actively trying to make others look bad was really more about covering up my own shortcomings." After working with Ferus Olin? Oh, yeah, Anakin got that talk so many times that he stopped keeping track. Looking back, though, Obi-Wan might have been somewhat justified, considering that most of the time, Anakin _was _trying to make Ferus look bad so that he himself could look better.

"I'm sure you gave him ample opportunity to impart that particular bit of wisdom."

"Trust me, you really don't want Obi-Wan on your side," he assures Dooku as seriously as he can manage. Honestly, though, he'd kind of like to laugh at how Dooku's face still looks sort of pinched at the idea that he's insecure. "You'll get more lectures than you thought existed."

The scowl eases, though just a bit. "It's a chance I'll take."

Force, and that just infuriates Anakin. Dooku sounds so _sure_, like he thinks that even if it's taking a while, he's still guaranteed to get what he wants. That—what Dooku is doing—it's not giving Obi-Wan enough credit. He's a match for Dooku's machinations any day, and it's downright insulting that Dooku would assume otherwise and believe that the endgame will eventually, inevitably, be his.

"Getting a little ahead of yourself, aren't you?" he snaps.

"I should think you'd appreciate my surety. It is, after all, what is keeping you alive." Anakin assumes he must look confused—probably furious—because Dooku continues, his voice slightly more smug than before. "Kenobi will fall if that is what is required to save you, Skywalker. Of that, I am _sure_. He may not believe it himself, but already he's done things he would have once denied he could ever do. He's taking steps toward falling, and when he goes over the edge, he'll look back on how he swore he never would, and he'll wonder how he could have been so naïve. Men don't just fall in one event—it's a journey. And Kenobi is on it."

Anakin swears at him in Huttese. It's not as effective as he'd like: Dooku merely eyes him with disdain. Swearing is, apparently, beneath him, at least in his own mind. Interesting how he finds that distasteful, but murder, extortion, and torture are acceptable.

"Yes, well," Dooku says snobbishly, hand sweeping his cloak back over his shoulder as if to protect it from Anakin's foul mouth. "There's a reason I always preferred your master over you. Sidious was not wrong to recognize your anger, but as you continually prove, you have the manners and civility of the slave that you still should be."

Right. He says "slave" like it makes Anakin a weaker, lesser life form. So many people _do _think that, but, like Dooku, they wouldn't last a day where Anakin comes from, and while Dooku's nasty comments do make his blood burn, he does have to admit that he takes a sort of pride in knowing the severity of what he's survived. He's experienced things that would break most people, but here he is, stronger for it. He wouldn't wish it on anyone, but there's something empowering about knowing that he survived atrocities that Dooku can't imagine.

It doesn't make smiling back in the face of Dooku's venom easy, but Anakin does do it.

"Something funny?" Dooku prompts.

"If you don't get the humor, I can't very well explain it."

It's almost amusing how Dooku knows his stinging comment has been overruled, but he can't piece together how. Apparently, he deigns retreat as the better option, so like the coward he is. When he finds himself on uneven footing, he turns and leaves, exactly like he did with Yoda in the hangar.

Coward. Useless coward.

Sometimes, Anakin thinks that maybe he does owe Tatooine something after all. A childhood of slavery is certainly better than turning out like Dooku.

* * *

War is gruesome. It's brutal, selfish, deadly, and while there's usually a winner, both sides still lose. Worst of all—worse than fresh killing—is the aftermath. The corpses lying on the ground, lifeless eyes staring blankly toward a sky they'll never truly _see_ again.

There's not too much blood. Not this time. There usually isn't when a lightsaber is the weapon of choice. Still, there's a little, enough that Padme finds herself looking away as she works to compose herself.

When she looks back, she realizes that the blood isn't just on the victims.

Padme's heart drops when she sees Obi-Wan. He's standing in the center of the carnage, back to her, lightsaber still drawn and pointing downward toward the ground, as though he's considering something. Silence hangs on him, and from where she's standing, it seems he's hardly breathing.

"Obi-Wan?"

He doesn't move. It's hard to tell whether he hears her or not, or whether he's lost in a world somewhere far away from here.

Then, a tiny quiver in his shoulders, and his blue blade disappears.

He still doesn't move.

"Obi-Wan?"

"In my cloak pocket. There's a transmitter."

Hesitantly, she takes a step forward, delicately picking her way around a severed head. Oh, Force. He can't have done this. This isn't Obi-Wan. Not for anything. Not even for Anakin. When she'd gotten the notice that he was being sent out again—when she'd prepared to go meet him—she'd never anticipated this. Never.

When she's close enough, she extends her hand, reaching out. Her fingertips hover just over his back before she dips them lightly, skimming over his shirt. Before she can press down, her wrist is caught in a firm grip.

She hardly even saw him move.

"You'll be able to hear Dooku with it," Obi-Wan whispers, hand going down to his pocket and pulling the aforementioned item out. He presses it into her hand, curling her fingers around it, clearly not intending to accept that she won't take it.

Obi-Wan's hood is down over his eyes, like he's hiding, and there's something sinister about that. The sense of that chills her—this isn't Obi-Wan. Obi-Wan is never sinister. He's a good man.

Slowly, she raises her other hand toward his hood. "Obi-Wan, don't give into this—"

"I can't stop it," he says as her fingers catch in the cloth of his hood, pushing it back and down his neck.

Immediately, she wishes she hadn't. His eyes are glazed, as though he's feverish… and he might be. Can the dark side make someone physically sick? Obi-Wan clearly thinks he's given himself over to the darkness, but someone who is one with it shouldn't look so ill, should they?

"Obi-Wan—"

"I can't, Padme," he murmurs, sounding for all the world like a wounded animal caught in a trap. She can feel the raw pain in his voice. Force, why this man? Why Obi-Wan? Couldn't the Force have used someone else, and before she can think, anger rises in her, too. It's all so _unfair_.

"I can't," he repeats, turning his gaze away, giving her the small luxury of imaging those eyes to still be as bright and lively as they used to be. Not dull like they are now.

But amid all of the darkness, there is one small comfort.

His eyes aren't like the Sith on Naboo.

"It's in my head, Padme. I can—I can fight it a little longer, but the dark side consumes, and I've—I've let it in."

_No_. He's taking the easy way out. Giving into his guilt. He can fight this. "You can't let it be that simple," she snaps, touching his cheek with her free hand. His beard isn't scratchy like she'd have thought. Not soft, exactly, but right on him, because it's a symbol of the man she cares for. "Don't do this."

His grip on her wrists tightens, and his shoulders heave in something that's close to a sigh, but far more volatile. "It's already done."

"You can't—"

"Do you _want _to be a widow, Padme?"

"We can find another way!"

He doesn't believe her. That's obvious. Worse, he's angry about the suggestion. Maybe he just doesn't want the promise of hope. Foolish, foolish man. Hope is the only thing they have left.

He shoves her hand aside roughly, taking a step back. "There _is _no other way!"

"I don't believe that. The light—it will _make _another way."

There's something so entirely wrong about seeing a sneer on his face—not where she's used to seeing kindness. "I've followed where the Force has led me. This is where I am," he says sharply, giving her one last, harsh look, almost contemptuous, but so pained that she can't be angry. Not at him.

"Obi-Wan, _no_—" she tries to protest, catching his arm when he goes to brush by her.

He doesn't hit her. There's no pull back or wind up, but just a sharp snap of his arm, flinging her backwards and onto the ground. Pain shoots through her at the contact with the hard ground, but she knows she's not physically hurt—not really.

Even now, sprawled on the ground, she doesn't believe he'll hurt her. She can't.

"Don't follow me," he says quietly, staring down at her. His eyes are shaded with regret, but it's not enough. All it becomes is more pain, which feeds the dark side. He's lost in what he's done. "Don't come after me."

She doesn't.

She lets him walk away, watching from her place on the ground. He never looks back, never says anything else, and minutes later when she sees a ship rise up into the sky, she knows he's gone.

* * *

Obi-Wan can hardly breathe. This, he thinks, must be what it's like to be an asthmatic. Once stress or exertion closes your airways, every breath is a fight unless you have your medicine. He's fighting now. The problem is, he's not sure he even _deserves _to still draw breath.

Stepping off his ship into the thick of the Coruscant night, he makes himself inhale the air, the scent of speeder exhaust, and urban living. Normally, he likes the night air.

Tonight, he doesn't like much of anything. He's a dead man walking—standing on his feet, but dead where it counts. He can't feel. Night air won't do him any good.

One step. Then another. He needs to make his way back to the only life waiting for him. Life shouldn't be a laughable concept, should it?

Dooku is waiting for him in the hanger as Obi-Wan approaches. The hour is late—Obi-Wan is not sure how late, exactly—and it's surprising that Dooku has bothered to meet him. Is it because of a twisted sense of attachment to Obi-Wan's dead master? Something else? Whatever it is, Dooku is quite pathetic in his own way. Always searching for something he can never find, always striving, but Obi-Wan can't criticize for anything, because there's blood on his tunic and darkness smearing his mind.

He feels ill.

There were so many bodies, and all he can remember is coming back to reality standing in the middle of them. His lightsaber had been firm and solid in his hand, his only reliable constant at the moment, and looking at the mess of corpses around him, he'd seriously considered driving his weapon through his own heart. Just end it all. Stop any more killing. He hadn't been thinking clearly, of course, but it would have been so _easy_ and so _painless._

He almost wishes Padme hadn't found him. If she hadn't, he quite possibly might have done it.

"Master Kenobi," Dooku greets with a short bow.

Obi-Wan doesn't return the greeting. What need is there for pleasantries? He's not a gentleman. Gentlemen don't remove people's heads and roast their internal organs with lightsabers. What a mess it had been. So many dismembered bodies that he left on Utapau.

His stomach turns. Maybe he really will be sick. He certainly feels like it.

"I'm not interested in courtesy," he says icily, forcing himself to stiffen his neck and back until he's standing as straight as he can. He will not be weak. He's smeared with the dark side, and Dooku can probably feel that, but he will still not let Dooku think him to be vulnerable.

Dooku seems mildly surprised, though that hardly shows. He's a cold man, and emotions don't always read clearly on his face. "Obviously. And your mission? I would appreciate a status report."

And Obi-Wan would appreciate a sedative. Too bad. "You probably already have pictures," he snaps.

Another sprinkling of surprise, but it fades, and something oddly satisfied takes its place. Does Dooku think he's won an ally in the dark side? He'd do well to rethink that. Obi-Wan may feel the dark side's oily presence clinging to him, but the first thing he'll let it influence him to do is destroy Dooku. Maybe now he'll even be a little more open to ways that are slightly… creative.

"I have no pictures yet, I'm afraid," Dooku begins with a slight hint of pompousness. "And while a crew will certainly have to minimize the mess—"

Certainly. Mass murder is so messy.

"—I am not so uncouth that I would take _pleasure _in what was merely necessity."

"Spare me your civilized lie."

How strange that Dooku lets him get away with that sort of insolence: he simply clasps his hands together and nods, ducking his head to the side to hide his expression for a moment.

When he looks back up, an odd stillness has descended on his manner. There is nothing about him to indicate that he is pleased, but there is even less to suggest that he regrets anything he has done. He is just… unfeeling. At most, he is interested, though the only hint of that is a cold, clinical gaze, as though Obi-Wan is a rat in a lab that is, for some reason, particularly worthy of interest.

"It clings to you, doesn't it, Master Kenobi?"

Oh, yes. It's not necessary to even ask what he's referring to. Nothing clings like the dark side, not even the blood on his tunic.

"It digs its tendrils into your mind, burrowing until it grips you in too many places to be removed. It will hurt, but it will bring you power. Join me, Obi-Wan. Together, we can have power."

Power? Always with power. Only the insecure want power. This man before him—he is as pathetic as Obi-Wan has become. Attachment? Lust for control? It's all the same when it comes right down to it. He and Dooku are both deplorable, addicted to something that is slowly killing them, and Obi-Wan doesn't _want _it, but he can't push it from his mind. He let the dark side in, and he doesn't know how to expel it now that it has a grip. He's not dark yet—he knows that—but it's a matter of time, because he can't hold the weight that is dragging him down. Whether he wants it or not, the dark side is going to pull him in.

And Dooku did this to him. He put him in this position, and, oh, how that makes hate burn in Obi-Wan's chest. Oh, he hates.

The dark side flares in him.

He just barely manages not to vomit. He's shaking now.

_Somebody help me._

It's been so long since he's been like this. For now, he feels like nothing more than a lost, insecure little boy, crying for his master, even for the parents he never knew, but just for someone to please _care._ He can't save himself. Not this time. Someone else has to. He's so sick.

He can't hold himself up anymore. With a sick crack that sounds like wood splitting, his knees hit the metal floor of the hanger so hard he knows he'll have bruises. Reaching out a steadying hand, he presses his palm to the floor. He can't be this. He can't, but the dark side is in his mind, and he likes the freedom to hate. He can hate Dooku if he wants now, and that feels good.

A cool hand slips under his chin. It's so gentle, but wrong—all wrong. It's not like when his master did this. It's not the comfort he wants. This is wrong enough to be like acid on his skin.

"Oh, Obi-Wan," Dooku sighs, having knelt down on one knee at some point in the last few seconds. Obi-Wan hadn't noticed, but he's noticing now, because that hand—it's Dooku's hand. Cool and dry and soft, with light calluses from a lightsaber, but still clearly spared from hard labor. So aristocratic. "I know this hurts," Dooku continues, somehow gently enough to sound kind, but still firm and unyielding. And, Force, he really does sound sympathetic. Why is that so unthinkable? Dooku _knows _how this feels… and yet he's still sick enough to want to inflict it on someone else.

Gently, with a bit of hesitation, his hand rises, going to Obi-Wan's hairline, where he pauses, hand hovering there, as though he's not quite certain. Then, a quick decision seemingly made, he reaches out to stroke the hair back out of Obi-Wan's eyes, like Qui-Gon did sometimes when Obi-Wan was very sick. Was that where Qui-Gon learned to do that? Was this man ever a father? _Ever? _Every good master is a sort of parent. Obi-Wan will admit that now. It's not what the Order strove for, but it's true.

In some ways, the members of the Order are terrible hypocrites.

"It will all be all right," Dooku says quietly, still brushing back hair. "It will hurt, but you'll be able to protect those you care for, and you'll see that it's better. Once you get by the pain of the darkness, you'll want it."

Most disturbingly of all, Dooku looks almost content like this. There's satisfaction in the man's eyes that Obi-Wan can't deny—can't avoid once Dooku lifts his chin up and meets his eyes, nearly fond, like he's seeing Obi-Wan as some sort of twisted sense of family. Why should that be so impossible? His entire motivation for allowing Obi-Wan to live was his connection to Qui-Gon. Dark side or not, he wants someone with him, and Obi-Wan is his last link to a time when he had some semblance of that.

And he is willing to drag a person down into his misery with him simply so he won't have to be alone.

Yanking his head away, Obi-Wan leans over and vomits.

"You're worse than miserable," he whispers once the gagging has passed and he's wiped his sleeve across his mouth. Might as well add vomit to the blood, yes? "You're alone, you're miserable, and you want me so you won't have to be alone. I'm not Qui-Gon. And he wouldn't want you like this, either. You stopped being someone anyone would care for when you embraced the dark side… and you forced me to do it, too."

Someone no one could care for. Obi-Wan is that now, too. Better just to face it.

But then there's Anakin.

Anakin. He'll be all right. He will be, but Obi-Wan needs to make him leave _now_ before that changes. Once he falls as deep into the dark as Dooku, he'll want to drag Anakin with him, and he can _never _let that happen. Whatever it takes, he needs to make Anakin leave.

There will be time for this confrontation with Dooku later. Right now, he needs to get to Anakin.

A hand materializes under his elbow, helping him to his feet when he shakily stands, wiping his mouth again. He stumbles, unsteady on his feet, but he still fights off Dooku's touch. That man—that disgusting, dark, _evil_ man—was just stroking his hair back out of his face, helping him, like he _cared_.

No. Don't touch. Not ever again. He doesn't want comfort if it comes from someone like Dooku—someone inhabited with everything that is vile and dark. Let him rot and die alone. It's better that way. Darkness together will only breed darkness. Better to let it fester alone.

"You're not well, Obi-Wan," Dooku says calmly, as though he's speaking to a willful child. He stands there, hands tucked behind his back, accepting Obi-Wan's refusal of his help. At least for now. That won't last. Dooku wants the last vestiges of the only family he ever came close to having. He won't accept denial of that forever. He won't allow Obi-Wan to refuse to cooperate for long.

Obi-Wan just needs to make sure Anakin is gone before that happens.

He'll go back to his room. He'll make sure Anakin is all right. And then, in the morning, he'll strike a deal with Dooku. He'll find a way to get Dooku to let Anakin go.

Once Anakin is gone, Dooku can try whatever he likes. Obi-Wan will take pleasure in gouging his heart out with whatever object is handy, because he will _never _give him the sense of family that he desires.

Family is with people like Anakin. With Qui-Gon.

Not people consumed by the dark side.

It's not for him anymore, either.

He needs to get Anakin to safety.


	23. Chapter 22

**Disclaimer: **I own nothing.

**Feedback**: If you'd be so kind as to leave some, I'll do my best to reply.

**Notes:** ROTS AU.

Bek-K: Anakin won't disappoint.

FireShifter: Don't worry—Obi-Wan isn't quite lost yet.

charliebrown1234: Interesting analogy and one that I like. Once you get passed the solid control, what happens then? Hmm… obviously, I can't really answer that, or I'd be telling you the ending. :)

puts foot in mouth: Good point about Dooku—he should be pitied, shouldn't he? I find that's true about most people like him. It doesn't make me like them, though. Just feel sorry for them. Also, thanks so much for going back through every chapter! I don't have the space to reply to each here, but I very much appreciate the feedback, and I do read every single review.

Mreeb: I have to admit, the reason this story is so long is because I couldn't conceivably have Obi-Wan brush the dark side without a lot of background. Haha, I like the story about your sister. :) Makes me wish I had a sibling.

donahermurphy: Obi-Wan did conveniently ignore the bit about the sand people, didn't he? No worries, though! Anakin will remind him. Plus, that boy isn't exactly good at allowing himself to be pushed away.

whimperling: I'd agree about Anakin/Luke's rescue streak.

Pronker:You're spot on with Obi-Wan's hopes: at this point, he'd probably prefer that he and Dooku take each other out. Anakin really isn't going to go for that, though. And I'm glad you like Dooku's portrayal. I really wish there was more fanfiction that explored his character.

anakinpadmekenobi: I started out writing that scene, but the more I thought about it, the more I could see Obi-Wan doing something like blacking out through all of it, mainly because he _doesn't _like doing ut. It seemed like a good plot device to indicate that he's not as dark as he thinks he is.

YamiSnuffles: Telling me that I made you keep reading even after you hit subject matter you didn't like is about the highest compliment you can give me. Thanks. Plus, you're right when you say Obi-Wan isn't quite as far gone as he thinks.

UndeniablyMe: Funny you should mention Obi-Wan needing a hug, because that's exactly what I felt like doing the entire time I was writing this chapter (and basically how I felt through all the Star Wars films). Anakin might be willing to help, though (as well as about a million fan girls, myself included). Hmm… and I realized I haven't stated how far Padme is along. I need to do that, but at this point, she's just a few months, maybe four. And, yes, Obi-Wan does seem to have conveniently ignored the part about the Sand People, hasn't he? As for the ending, well, I can't give that away, but I think it's safe to say that I won't leave Obi-Wan the way he is now.

Estora: Thank you. :) And don't give up on Obi-Wan just yet.

* * *

Obi-Wan comes back late in the night. Anakin, as has become customary when Obi-Wan is away, has taken to sleeping in his former master's bed. He can't quite account for what wakes him—it's all a bit fuzzy. He knows he hears the sound of a door opening, then a sharp thud, but by the time he's palming open Obi-Wan's door and heading out toward the living area, the scene has rushed onward.

Obi-Wan's bent over the sink, head down, shoulders heaving.

Cautiously, Anakin slides out into the kitchen. Obi-Wan must hear him. His senses are too good not to, but he says nothing. He doesn't even turn around.

"Dooku didn't want to see you?" Anakin asks, carefully sliding toward the middle of the room as though he's approaching a skittish animal. Everything about this situation is striking him as wrong, but there's too much out of place to pinpoint the epicenter from which the shockwaves of unease are coming.

"No," Obi-Wan replies in a low voice, sick enough that it doesn't sound like his own.

There's an odd tremor in Obi-Wan's shoulders, like a thin fault line of an earthquake. It's not fear, Anakin senses, but something more along the lines of illness. Something's wrong. It's very _seriously_ wrong.

"Master?"

"I'm not your master, Anakin. Not anymore."

Of course he is. Maybe not really, but it's a term of affection, and Obi-Wan knows that. Anakin might not always use it—he does crave being on equal ground with Obi-Wan most of the time—but sometimes he likes the reminders of childhood, of when he was a youngling and needed his master.

In some manner of speaking, it's his way of telling Obi-Wan that he _still _needs him.

"What happened?" he asks quietly, sliding a little closer. The lights are still all out, and he can just barely see Obi-Wan's outline, still wracked with tremors against the counter.

Silence hangs heavily between them, sinking downward like lead until it passes out of sight, and Anakin knows for sure that Obi-Wan has no intention of replying. Slowly, he reaches out, reaching for Obi-Wan's back, stretching with the Force at the same time.

A brush with his hand and a brush from the Force. His hand sinks against soiled clothes and warm flesh, but the Force hits something _cold_. Obi-Wan is icy cold in the Force, and dark, like his light has gone out.

Physically, Anakin pushes forward; in the Force, he recoils, feeling as though he's been doused with ice water.

"Master… what—what did you do?"

"Go back to bed, Anakin. Now."

When Obi-Wan is like this? "No."

"It wasn't a request."

Anakin's hand tentatively slides up to Obi-Wan's shoulder, fingertips just barely brushing. He's… not quite sure what he'll find, and the uncertainty makes him hesitant. "Tell me what happened."

"Anakin, you know what happened. You can feel it."

Maybe, but he can't accept it. He _won't_, not this easily. "What did he make you do?"

Obi-Wan presses away from him, closer to the counter, before turning to face him. Even in the dim light, Anakin can see the dullness of his eyes. He looks drugged, and very ill. Even his skin is sallow, drawn tight, giving the impression that he hasn't slept in days. And… and down the front of his tunic, there's blood.

"Obi-Wan—you feel cold."

A nasty smile twists Obi-Wan's lips. It's cruel and cutting, almost as though he's disgusted with Anakin's simplicity, but the more Anakin looks, the more he knows that look isn't for him—it's directed inward. Obi-Wan is hating himself and what he's done.

And if he's hating himself, that means there's still something in him that has to be able to hate the darkness.

There's still light.

"What are you going to do?" he asks quietly. He still doesn't let go of Obi-Wan's shoulder.

Obi-Wan doesn't speak… but the answer is in his eyes.

His stomach drops. "You can't give Dooku what he wants."

"I can do whatever I please, Anakin, and let me be clear: you won't interfere. Dooku wants me, and I'm halfway gone anyway. You know that. You can feel the dark side hanging on me. It's a good trade. "

"Embracing the dark side to guarantee my safety? That's a terrible trade!"

That smile—it makes Anakin ache, but he doesn't move when Obi-Wan's hand comes up to his cheek, cupping it lightly. It's such a gentle touch, as though all the light Obi-Wan still has is in it—perhaps that's why Anakin can't feel the light anywhere else right now. Or maybe it's just so deeply inside, hidden behind the dark, protected from it. But it's still there. It _has _to be. "For me, maybe… but I care far more about what's good for you."

"I won't let you do it."

He just keeps smiling. "You think I haven't already?"

"No one who has embraced the dark side fully would look so sickened to have it hanging on him. It's on you like dirt on skin, but you can still wash it off. It's not _in _you. It couldn't be, Obi-Wan. No one can truly be dark unless they _want _to be. You don't. You hate the dark side, and you don't want anything it has to offer. You hate touching it, but you're doing it because you don't see another choice. That doesn't make you dark. That makes you manipulated."

Shaking his head, Obi-Wan laughs unsteadily. Force, he looks so sick—he's trembling, even, and he seems to realize that, because he drops his hand from Anakin's face. "Anakin, when you touch the dark side—_really_ touch it, with deliberate forethought—you pull it inside of you. The Tusken Raiders—that was a snap-second decision. I thought about this. I _planned _it. I knew exactly what I was doing. It doesn't matter what my motives were. It just matters that I did it."

Maybe that's true. Maybe it's not. Does it matter? It can't, and all Anakin can feel is a rush of revulsion and pure determination, because he _won't _loose Obi-Wan. He won't. He'll keep him here with the light. He just has to trust in the light. He has to make _Obi-Wan_ trust in the light again, because right now, it doesn't seem like he trusts in anything… least of all himself.

Taking a deep breath, he slides his hand up to the side of Obi-Wan's neck, forcing the other man to look at him.

"If it's inside of you," he says quietly, enunciating every word, "then we'll pull it out."

"You're an arrogant fool if you think that you're stronger than the dark side. The Force cannot be manipulated, Anakin!" he snaps. "Not ultimately!"

"Just because no one has ever done it doesn't mean it _can't _be done. It just means it _hasn't_ been done. I'm the Chosen One. I _am _the will of the Force. I was conceived by it. Don't tell me what I can and can't do."

Obi-Wan's beard twitches as he scowls, and he glares, just quickly, before he pushes Anakin away and turns, hands behind his back, toward his room. The dismissal is clear, but Anakin chooses not to see it. Or, more conveniently, he chooses to ignore it. The Jedi want to label him the Chosen One? Well, it's about time some sort of benefit came with that enormous burden.

Obi-Wan isn't going to do this—not while Anakin still has the power to stop him.

And Anakin is sure that he _does__._

"Stop walking."

Power is a strange thing. It's not what Obi-Wan wants, Anakin knows. He's not a man who craves power, but he is a man that wields it, but in a way that's so understated that people hardly realize what he's doing. Anakin's different. He wants the recognition. He wants control where, as a slave, he never had it. By not having it, he learned what to do when he got it. He learned to become effective. He has learned how to make himself heard.

Even Obi-Wan hears him.

Obi-Wan stills, caught by the dropping of Anakin's voice and the pure determination. He's never spoken to Obi-Wan like this. Never straight out ordered him the way he is now, but what's happening—it transcends the boundaries of any chain of command they might have. This isn't Obi-Wan, and Anakin isn't giving in. "You aren't walking out on me. I won't let you give in like this. Turn around and face me, and prove to me that my master is gone… because I won't accept it any other way, and we both know that, in a fight—if it's a real one, nothing held back—I'll win."

In one smooth movement, Obi-Wan turns, dipping a shoulder as he pivots to fix Anakin with thinned lips and hard eyes. "You give yourself too much credit, Anakin," he replies coldly, with a hint of challenge.

This spark of challenge—it's a rush, the sort a man can feel inside him when he's standing outside in a storm. It's wild, dangerous, but alive… and he can feel the storm rising, swirling around both of them in the Force, a mixture of light and dark, and terribly messy. Everything is blurred, including, right now, the idea of whether he and Obi-Wan are allies or enemies. Both, perhaps. "Maybe you don't give me _enough _credit."

Obi-Wan's upper lips curls, and he crosses his arm, planting his feet, preparing for an attack. "You can't stop this. Now, listen to me: go back to bed, and when Dooku comes for you in the morning, go home to your wife and child. Don't be a fool. I don't want to fight you for this… and I'll win. Your life is an odd sort of motivation to me."

"And yours isn't for me?" Obi-Wan isn't usually arrogant, but if he thinks Anakin is going to take this order from him, he's overestimated the control he holds. He's overestimated it _badly_. "I don't want to hurt you."

"No, Anakin. _I _don't want to hurt _you_."

Right now, kindness is not Anakin's first priority. He's not going to lose Obi-Wan to this darkness, and if they fight this fight, he's going to fight to win. He'll lay Obi-Wan out if that's what it takes, but he's going to _win._

Raising his eyes, he blinks, holding his intensity. It feels like a burn between them. "Drop your shields," he says quietly. "Now."

Obi-Wan stares back, arms tucked behind him, ready like he always is on the edge of a fight. Everything about him is a taunt, a challenge for Anakin to just _try to make him_. Obi-Wan isn't giving in easily.

Anakin offers him one small, sharp nod. Nothing more. Just confirmation.

Then, in the Force, he surges forward.

Obi-Wan staggers when the Force hits him in the chest, slamming him back into the wall so hard that the plaster dents to his body, but the moment he hits, he's rolling, and he catches himself on his elbows against the wall. He's still strong like this, and the Force clings to him as it always has, shimmering with power.

Obi-Wan Kenobi _is _very powerful in the Force.

But he's not Anakin Skywalker.

"You're good, Anakin," he murmurs, tense and ready, breathing hard as he tips his head back and studies Anakin, "but you're not invincible. And I've got an advantage, because you don't truly want to hurt me." Such confidence there. So smug.

What he's not taking into account is that Anakin understands that, sometimes, as cliché as it is, he has to be cruel to be kind.

"You're right," he agrees, nodding, moving a little closer. Obi-Wan's shoulders settle back, and he sets himself, but he doesn't move, staying where he can guard his back against the wall. "But I will if I have to."

He moves before Obi-Wan really has time to act. That's how he wants it—he doesn't want this drawn out. It's going to hurt enough as it is, and what he's doing—it's a dirty move. It's beneath him, but he'll do it, because right now, there are no rules. Winning is the bottom line.

Obi-Wan chokes when the Force wraps around his neck, not tight enough to kill, but enough so that no air goes in. Anakin can see the surprise in the contours of his face, and his eyes reflect it more deeply. _Let go_, he's saying. But Anakin doesn't. He can't.

Two quick strides and he's at Obi-Wan's side. He's not entirely sure what he expected, but a swift knee to his gut—despite the fact that Obi-Wan can't breathe—is not it. Just like that, _neither _of them can breathe.

Still, he doesn't let go.

Obi-Wan keeps choking.

"Was that really necessary?" Anakin gasps once he's unfolded himself. That knee to the stomach _hurt_. Of course, Obi-Wan can't answer. Instead, he's down on his knees now, grasping at his neck with one hand, digging hard enough that he's making red lines on his neck with his nails. With his other hand, he's bracing himself on the ground. The knuckles of his fingers are white as he presses against the floor, desperate now, but still fighting not to show it.

Already, his face is blooming with color like the slow spread of a terribly morbid sunrise. _Please_, Anakin thinks, _let this bring light. Please. Don't let all this be for nothing._

One more harsh shove with the Force, and Obi-Wan falls onto his back. The moment Anakin releases the grip on his neck he tries to flip himself back over, but Anakin catches him and holds him steady, pushing him down.

"I don't want to hurt you," he tells Obi-Wan as earnestly as he can manage. "I never would. But this _will _hurt."

He can see the understanding in Obi-Wan's eyes, and a small spark of fear besides. As he strains against Anakin, he shakes his head, one last silent plea to stop, but Anakin doesn't heed what he knows he can't.

"Breathe deep," he murmurs, putting a hand to Obi-Wan's brow and drawing his fingers lightly over the man's temples.

Then, he pushes forward.

Oh, that hurts. Hurts _him_. He feels as though he's being consumed by cold and smothered with darkness, worse than Hoth in the deepest night. How can a being choose this willingly? Who would _want _to feel like this?

Obi-Wan didn't _want _to. Anakin is sure of that. He only felt that he _had_ to.

Nearly flailing, Anakin pushes himself forward, gliding through the darkness and trying to draw breath. If he's right, this can't last forever. It should only be a casing, which is completely covering—as of now—the light that he is certain Obi-Wan still harbors.

He better hit it soon. If he doesn't, he can't imagine that he'll last much longer. Chosen One or not, the darkness is smothering him, and if he won't give into it—and he won't—it's going to suffocate him completely. Won't that be a sight? Dooku will walk in to find both him and Obi-Wan sprawled on the floor, Anakin's mind dead inside Obi-Wan's. It will probably kill Obi-Wan, too, come to think of it, but at this point, that would probably be a mercy when compared to leaving him to live in the dark.

Is he wrong? He can't last much longer, and if he's wrong about light still existing, he'll never break through to it. If he never breaks through, he's going to die. How much longer can he hold out? Already, he's feeling weaker, more sluggish.

_Please, please, give me the light…_

The Force answers. Just like it answered him when he was a little slave boy on Tatooine, just like it answered when he was lonely and new in the Temple, and in the same way it's eventually answered every time he's called on it. The Force does not disappoint. It answers his calling.

Gasping, Anakin falls into the light.

This is Obi-Wan. This is the master he knows, and for a moment he just lays there in Obi-Wan's mind, letting the pureness of everything that's ever been good about his master wash over him. This is so good. Perfect.

But he can't rest forever.

This is the part that will hurt most, though really for Obi-Wan more than him. Right now, the dark side has a grip on his master's mind, and the light needs to be pulled up through it. It's all a battle in Obi-Wan's mind, and, as with any being, that's a fragile place, and not ideal for a fight. Light and dark mixing to such great degrees will hurt.

Yet, there's no choice.

So, Anakin grabs onto the light and pulls.

The brightness tears into the dark as he rushes back up into the inky blackness. The light slices through it, driving it out, but it's still a cut, and he can feel Obi-Wan shake around him. It hurts. Anakin can feel it hurting him, but he keeps going, keeps pushing, until he's pulling everything inside out. The light smothers the dark, because that's the thing about light: it may create shadows, but when it touches the dark, it obliterates it.

Then, gasping, Anakin jerks back into his own mind, the light trailing behind him.

Everything fades to white.

Nothing. He just drifts, bodiless, and even when his gaze refocuses, and he's left staring at the ceiling of their quarters, he doesn't move. It's kind of nice like this. He knows he could feel his arms and legs if he tried, but he really doesn't want to try. He likes it like this. It's peaceful.

Obi-Wan moans beside him.

So much for resting.

"Master? Obi-Wan, are you all right?" he asks, rolling over and reaching for Obi-Wan's arm. At first his fingers brush the floor, but as he reaches further, he manages to find a different texture: cloth and warm arm.

Pushing himself up onto his elbows, he looks down at Obi-Wan. He doesn't look good. His face is slicked with a sheen of sweat to the point where it's wetting his hair, and his skin is ashen. Even his breathing is labored.

But when he opens his eyes, there's light there.

"I don't—" Obi-Wan trails off with a groan that sounds remarkably like a wounded animal. It gets a little muffled when he rolls over and tucks his head under his arm. "Room's spinning."

"I'll bet." Of course, it's not the room that's spinning—it's Obi-Wan's mind as it tries to settle after having the darkness ripped out of it. Obviously, that's not going to be pleasant.

"Anakin," he mutters, still with a hand over his face as he fights against dizziness. "I almost—almost—"

"Yes, and I almost got lost in the dark, too. Shut up and let me get you to bed."

"Don't be cheeky."

Anakin snorts softly. If Obi-Wan is correcting his behavior, Anakin knows he'll be fine. He never thought he'd be so happy to get a reprimand.

"Can you walk at all?"

"Of course."

Maybe it would be a little easier to believe him if the dizziness didn't send Obi-Wan toppling over the moment he tries to get to his feet. Only quick reflexes on Anakin's part stop him from doing a very undignified face plant.

"Sure you can. And so can Depa Billaba."

"That's not funny," he mutters, sounding as stern as he can with Anakin physically picking him up. They certainly must be a sight: Anakin carrying his former master with an arm under his knees and another under his back, like a small child, which he most certainly is not. He may have a build that is smaller than some, but years of Jedi training have done much to insure that said frame is solid muscle… and muscle is _heavy._ Anakin is certainly beginning to realize that—to realize that Obi-Wan is too heavy to be carried like this. Still, it's not like he can carry him any other way: he has a feeling Obi-Wan would object to being slung over his shoulders.

That probably wouldn't matter. He objects to this too.

"Anakin, put me down, just help me walk—"

"You _can't_ walk."

Obi-Wan twists in his arms, and Anakin has to push down the very childish desire to just drop him. If he drops him, though, he might be worse off than he was to begin with. He doesn't much relish the idea of helping Obi-Wan get over a broken tailbone in addition to what he's already trying to fight. Why can't Obi-Wan make this _easier_? Would that really be so much to ask?

"Yes, I can, I—"

A quick flick of the Force sends Obi-Wan's own arm up to smack into his mouth. The effect doesn't last, of course—Anakin didn't push him hard enough to make any real impact—but the cloth does muffle Obi-Wan's words and ends his coming tirade before it begins.

Thankfully.

By the time Obi-Wan has gotten his own sleeve out of his mouth, Anakin is depositing him in his bed. Unfortunately, he doesn't seem to have missed a step: he's already protesting. Once they sort out this mess, he'll have to convince Obi-Wan to take another student, Anakin decides. He needs someone else other than his adult former padawan to lecture. "Anakin, that was not called for. It was not—"

"Clearly, you're feeling better," he comments wryly, pulling the blankets up over Obi-Wan. An Obi-Wan that can protest and lecture is a healthy Obi-Wan. There's some comfort to be had in that.

Obi-Wan just shoots him a nasty look that could chill Tatooine, and Anakin expects more complaining, but the longer Obi-Wan looks, the more his face softens, until he finally just drops his head back against his pillows and sighs. "You know, I'm glad it was me."

"Pardon?" he asks, heading to the end of the bed where he reaches out to undo the fastenings on one of Obi-Wan's boots before he pulls it off and tosses it into the corner. Obi-Wan looks askance at the boot—he's probably offended by the disorder that it's causing in his otherwise impeccable room—but he says nothing, and doesn't protest when Anakin begins tugging off the other one as well. "I'm glad it was me who touched the dark side. I'm glad it wasn't you."

"I would have liked it better if neither of us had." He throws the other boot in the general direction of its mate. It lands to the right of it, sprawling a few feet away. It's a far cry from the way Obi-Wan usually neatly positions them by his door.

Something in Obi-Wan's eyes stops him. That's not the point Obi-Wan's trying to make. He's trying to say something without actually saying it, and maybe—just maybe, that's because it's hurting him too much to easily say.

Immediately, Anakin moves back up the bed and settles on the side of it, watching Obi-Wan. "The dark side is awful," Obi-Wan says quietly. He sounds weak like that, tired too, and just too worn out to try anything else. "It smothers you and makes you miserable, but it's like a drug. It wraps its way around your mind, calling you to something you don't even want."

"It doesn't have you," he says quietly, trying very hard to be reassuring. It's hard, though—this could have been him, and, if this _had _been him, Palpatine would probably have made sure Obi-Wan was nowhere near him when he finally fell into the darkness. No one would have pulled him back.

He would have been lost. Obi-Wan could have been lost.

They _both_ could have been.

Apparently, no one is immune to the dark side. Not him. Not even Obi-Wan, who is the best man—the man most infused with light—that he knows.

"I know," Obi-Wan replies with a hint of a smile. "You didn't let it."

"I never would."

"Maybe not if you could help it. You're not responsible for me, you know. And, Anakin, it's not this easy—it's not—it's not _gone_. And you can't be responsible for the decisions I make."

That's laughable. Someone has to be. Obi-Wan might claim that Anakin is the one who makes rash decisions and gets himself into trouble, but Obi-Wan's sense of self-preservation is pretty bad too, especially when something large is at stake. "Like you're not responsible for me?"

Obi-Wan wrinkles his nose in distaste. "It's not the same thing. I trained you, I—"

"Just shut up. Really, I'm tired of hearing you talk." Half-teasing, half-serious, but whatever it is, it still makes Obi-Wan give him a stern stare. He can almost hear a lecture on respect coming, and in an attempt to cut if off, he reaches out and nudges Obi-Wan, signaling for him to move over. "I'm sleeping here tonight."

"You have a bed of your own that is perfectly functional—"

"Yup, I do. And in the field, I'm pretty sure I could have found a tent of my own that was perfectly functional. I like sharing with you. It's less lonely, and, besides, you worry me. Someone has to look after you."

Another stern look, this time with half-lidded eyes. He's getting too tired to scold. Excellent. "Anakin—"

"You're not my responsibility. Yes, I know," he says, scooting under the covers. "You've told me. But when the baby comes, _someone_ needs to babysit, you know, and you're probably the only one who can handle a little Skywalker. Well, other than Padme, but I'm pretty sure that's who I'll be with while you're babysitting, because you know, we'll still need time to ourselves. Really, Master, I think you should consider getting married. It's really nice. I bet Duchess Satine would still be open to the possibility. In fact—"

"Anakin?" Obi-Wan asks wearily, waving one hand to dim the lights with the Force.

"Why, yes, Master?"

"Shut up. Just shut up."

He grins and pushes his face into his pillow. Mission accomplished. "Sure, Master."

Later, they'll talk about what almost happened here tonight. They'll talk about the dark side and the things Obi-Wan did, but neither of them needs that right now. For now, they just need to sleep, and though neither of them will ever expressly spell it out, that's easier to do with a warm, familiar body near. Especially tonight after the impossible almost came to pass, they both will benefit from knowing the other is close by, not because of any logical reason, but just because it's a comfort. That doesn't need to be logical.

And so Anakin curls up against his pillow, trying to think of a day when this will all be over. A day when he'll have his wife and his baby with him. Obi-Wan too, because he's family. Even Padme thinks he's family, sort of like the brother-in-law whom she knows and likes well enough to call a friend. He and Padme can be together like they only ever are when he's on leave, and Obi-Wan can stop worrying about everything, because there will be nothing left to worry about. They'll still help people, though. Go on missions occasionally, because Anakin can't imagine giving up adventure altogether, and it's not like Obi-Wan can meditate _all _the time. But still, they can be a real family. Not normal, maybe, but still real. It's a nice thought, and as he drifts off to sleep, he lets himself imagine a house in the lake country of Naboo, good friends and family, and the happiness he's always wanted.

When he thinks about that, he doesn't have to think about how he almost lost Obi-Wan tonight in a way he wouldn't have thought possible, or how he could so easily have lost himself. He doesn't have to think about how Padme could die, or how this could all end in disaster. He doesn't need to consider the fact that he's Dooku's prisoner, or that Obi-Wan has probably done something unspeakable to protect him.

He doesn't think about any of that.

Why would he? After all, Naboo is so nice this time of year.


	24. Chapter 23

**Disclaimer: **I own nothing.

**Feedback**: If you'd be so kind as to leave some, I'll do my best to reply.

**Notes:** ROTS AU.

Bek-K: I think Dooku's major mistake is that he doesn't understand relationships or love, and thus he underestimates them at his own expense. Hence, he left Obi-Wan and Anakin together.

Torli: I agree about that particular trait of Anakin's being an asset at the moment. Actually, that's what I find so fascinating about Anakin's character: so many of his greatest strengths can also be his greatest weaknesses and vice versa.

ObiBettina7: I'm very glad you think so! Writing a semi-dark Obi-Wan is challenging, simply because so much of his character is rooted in the light.

SodapopXPonyboylover: Oh, yes, Anakin will be affected as well.

Andaere: Haha, I don't know about making history, but I appreciate the sentiment. I appreciate it a lot, actually. And I do have to admit, I really enjoy writing in the present tense. It took a lot of getting used to, but once I practiced with it a little, it ended up being quite fun. Oh, and the cuddling! Of course they cuddle! In my mind, it's practically a requirement. :) In regards to the baby thing—that will play more of a part soon. Padme is going to have to face issues along the lines of just how much danger she can put herself in, given that it's not just about her anymore. About the title—I love working titles into a line of the story. It's usually how I come up with them. Anyway, thanks so very much for the lengthy review. I adore reviews like that, because it gives me a lot to think about.

FireShifter: I think comparing the dark side to a drug is a very apt description. It explains why Vader was all like, "I _must _obey my master." Never got that, really. He certainly never had any compunctions about disobeying Obi-Wan.

charliebrown1234: Thanks! And, yes, sorry about the slightly slow updates. I blame it on getting ready to go back to school.

whimperling: Oh, there's a lot more mess first.

Rosabell: You'd think Dooku would notice he's underestimated Anakin, wouldn't you? Yet, for whatever reason, he dislikes him so much that he's not willing to see him as much of a threat. It's an interesting balance to play with.

Pronker:I have to admit, I always wondered just how much Anakin was influenced by Qui-Gon. He wasn't around him that long, but he still seems to have latched onto some of his teachings.

anakinpadmekenobi: I started out writing that scene, but the more I thought about it, the more I could see Obi-Wan doing something like blacking out through all of it, mainly because he _doesn't _like doing ut. It seemed like a good plot device to indicate that he's not as dark as he thinks he is.

Jedi Angel001: No, he's not quite beyond help, but you're also right when you say everything is all right yet.

YamiSnuffles: Smashing his way right into Obi-Wan's mind—I agree; it's very Anakin. Obi-Wan would probably agree. :)

not paranoid enough: I think that was my favorite part too! He's just sort of detaching himself from reality, and the kicker is that he _knows _he's doing it, but he lets himself go, just for a little while. Makes me want to give him a hug.

delightfully-so: Thanks!

Tosharino: I'm very glad you liked it. I wasn't sure if the concept would be too over the top or not.

anakinpadmekenobi: Oh, yes, there's a pattern. And interesting about the choking. I would say it's just a use of the Force. It's the intention behind it that makes it light or dark.

* * *

I've got another video posted up on YouTube. This one is called "Shadow Proves the Sunshine". If you'd be so kind as to go give it a look, I'd really appreciate it.

* * *

A sharp kick to Obi-Wan's leg startles him awake. The flair of pain running through his thigh is enough to momentarily disorient him, and whereas usually it would help to realize he's in his own room in the Jedi Temple, that only serves to confuse him more in this particular instance. No one sleeps in his bed while he's at the Temple.

Except, apparently, Anakin.

Anakin, who kicks in his sleep. Anakin, whom he hate sleeping with for exactly this reason.

Wasn't this tendency to share a bed with a parental figure supposed to end once puberty hit?

Groaning—it's still early, and he doesn't really want to face the ramifications of what he's done for the last few days—Obi-Wan pulls the covers over his head and buries his face in his pillow, inhaling the soft scent of linen and the lingering smell of his own hair. He'd like to stretch out, taking up the whole mattress with sprawling limbs, but Anakin just had to decide that he needed to sleep here.

He's not really complaining. It's not as though he wanted to be alone anyway. The dark side was like a bottomless pit of loneliness. He welcomes the company he thought he might never have again.

Just not when Anakin is kicking him. Like he is now. Again.

Fine. He can counter that.

In one swift, sharp move, Obi-Wan yanks the blankets to the side, pulling them up and off Anakin. Tatooine made his former apprentice unusually sensitive to the cold. More than likely, he'll be awake in under ten seconds.

Ten, nine, eight, seven, six, five, four—

"Give 'em back!" Anakin moans, pulling his pillow—Obi-Wan's actually, since this is technically his bed—over his head.

Right, not even ten.

"Don't be a child. It's time to get up anyway." Anakin doesn't need to know that, moments before, he also wanted to go back to sleep. That would set a bad precedent.

"It's not!" Anakin protests, hand groping blindly for the covers Obi-Wan has pulled away. "Oh, come _on. _That's not nice!"

"I gave Padme the transmitter."

Anakin stops grabbing for the blankets. Instead, his hands still, scraping against the sheets, gripping tightly just once before he lets go and smoothes out the wrinkles with his fingers.

Obi-Wan hadn't meant to say that. Not yet, at least—not so early. It just… slipped out.

Whatever the reason, Anakin is awake, tossing the pillow aside and already swinging his legs over the side of the bed. Suddenly, Obi-Wan very much wishes he'd go back to sleep. He's even still got a mild headache from the night before when Anakin riffled through his mind, and how could he have possibly thought it would be a good idea to bring up what he just brought up?

"What do you think she's going to do with the information she gets?"

There's not point in turning back now. Both of them are awake and interested. "Hard to tell. She might pass it to someone higher up."

"Obi-Wan, it's _Padme_. She'll be at the top of any resistance that arises."

Why? Because Anakin says so? Because he's sure his wife is the best? Unfortunately, in this particular situation, Obi-Wan has to admit he's probably right. After Naboo? All her years in the Senate? She could make resistance an art form. Quite frankly, it's always a compliment when your opponents want your head, and Nute Gunray certainly thought her form of resistance was potent enough to want her eliminated. The head of the banking clan wanted her dead badly enough that he originally wouldn't join the Separatists until Dooku had her killed. That's a pretty high testament to Padme's expertise in matters like these.

Anakin is right. She's probably leading the whole thing.

Sighing, Obi-Wan pushes himself out of bed and nearly trips over his boots. Anakin has always had a knack for putting things where they'll be exactly in the way. That comes in handy when fighting an enemy, but Obi-Wan isn't the enemy, and dying by breaking his neck when he falls over his boots is not quite what he has in mind.

"What do _you_ think she'll do with the information?" he asks as he moves his boots over to their place by the door. He pointedly ignores Anakin's smirk. Maybe if the boy would learn a little order and cleanliness from him rather than thinking his proclivity toward cleanliness amusing, Obi-Wan wouldn't have to give him anything to smirk about.

Belatedly, he wonders if maybe that's why Anakin is still messy. He _does_ like to laugh.

"Honestly?" Anakin says with a shrug, snagging Obi-Wan's comb off his nightstand and running it through his own tangled hair. "It's hard to say. Depends on where she sees that Dooku is vulnerable."

He doesn't even make the effort to try to look disapproving. It's not as though it would make Anakin relinquish his comb. "All right. And what's our plan?"

Anakin just looks at him blankly. "We have one?"

"We ought to make one."

"Our last one failed spectacularly. My shoulder is still sore. I doubt I'd be much use in an armed fight."

Yes, Obi-Wan imagines he'd have trouble, what with all the intricate moves that lightsaber combat requires. It's not the same as tackling someone in the kitchen and forcing your way into their mind—this takes more of a varied range of movement, and though Anakin hasn't said anything, he still has to be experiencing some discomfort. Dooku burned through his shoulder. While Jedi healing techniques speed up a recovery at a remarkable rate, they don't eliminate the time needed for healing, and it hasn't bee long since he left Anakin in that hospital bed. He's also assuming that Anakin was allowed full immersion in a bacta tank—nothing else could have healed him so quickly—but it's hard to tell with Dooku.

"Let's hope we don't have to fight."

Anakin raises an eyebrow and regards him doubtfully. "Do we have another option?"

"There are almost always alternatives to fighting."

"Such as?"

"I just haven't found one for this situation. Not yet."

The fingers of Anakin's mechanical hand clench. He seems to notice the gesture only afterward, almost as if it was nearly involuntarily, and he carelessly pulls his protective glove up and over it, shooting Obi-Wan a small smirk as he does so. "Mmhm. Keep thinking."

"_Start_ thinking," he suggests, crossing his arms over his chest and giving a light sniff of indignation.

This time, both of Anakin's eyebrows rise. "That's not nice."

"You also used to think I wasn't nice when I made you take baths. You'll have to excuse me if I don't put too much stock in your opinion."

Point to Obi-Wan… but who's counting? This repartee is really just to keep them sane in the times when nothing else can fill the space… but it can't last. They can't avoid their problems forever, and as uncomfortable as it will be, they need to talk.

Anakin seems to sense his sudden turn toward solemnity: his face smoothes out, and his smile fades away, leaving seriousness behind. Just like that, he sheds the traces of a playful teen and slides into his role as someone far older. This is the Anakin who fought in the Clone Wars. This Anakin is his equal, a general in his own right, and a man who has had the lives of others in his hands and handled that with the maturity of a man far older.

"Fine. We need to talk, don't we?" he asks. "All right. Better now than later."

Anakin's right. They can't keep stalling this. What to say, though? Thinking, he moves to his closet and pulls out a tunic. Stripping his old one off, he pulls the new one on, not bothering with the outer layers. Frankly, it's a joy to be out of the old one. How could he have missed the spots of blood on the front? Why hadn't he taken that off last night? "I agree."

Anakin's eyes follow the tunic as Obi-Wan tosses it into a basket near the door. Obi-Wan will send the laundry out with a droid later. "Maybe you can start by telling me how _that_ happened?" he asks, nodding toward the tunic.

That, of course, being the _blood_ on the tunic. "It's not my blood."

"I gathered that. I'd have noticed if you were hurt."

Perhaps. They beat each other up enough so that it might be hard to discern which injuries came from Anakin and which came from the assignment. "It's… from the members of the Separatist Council." There's no point in lying. Anakin needs to know.

However, just because he needs to know doesn't mean Obi-Wan has to like the shock—and, yes, the horror—in his eyes. He's not being condemned—Anakin knows what it's like to slaughter, and isn't that just a horrible bonding point? They're both mass killers. Oh, yes, what wonderful tendencies he's passed onto his padawan—

"You can't possibly blame yourself for this."

_Now _he's being condemned. That's twisted—Anakin will condemn him for feeling guilty, but he'll let mass murder slide. Obi-Wan is tempted to laugh, except it's not really humorous. There's nothing humorous about it _at all._

"Dooku forced your hand."

Well, yes, but that's hardly the point. He's been extorted and blackmailed before. They've just been through a war. Does Anakin think he hasn't been presented with bribes? That he hasn't had people try to coerce him to see things their way? And, yes, straight out try to threaten him? It's not about that. He's faced things like that before. It's about the fact that, this time, he gave in.

Irritation stirs up in his gut, and he turns away, scowling. It's not Anakin's fault, but undeniably annoyed. He doesn't want absolution… and maybe that's how Anakin felt all those times he told him not to blame himself. He'll think about that later. For now, he'll concentrate on how absurd Anakin's line of thinking is.

"Oh, really? Did Dooku take the swings for me? Did he lop of the heads of beings that had no weapons? I don't even remember doing it, Anakin—not after the first swing. I couldn't let myself experience it, because I was too disgusted."

"And you're upset about that?" Anakin asks a little uncertainly. "You should be pleased you were disgusted. When I killed the sandpeople, I _liked_ it. Every thrust and strike was so _satisfying_. Blood lust isn't pretty, believe me. Be glad that you found what you were forced to do abhorrent. In fact, be glad that you were forced—be glad that you didn't slaughter people because you _wanted _to."

"Heads rolled just the same, whether or not I liked it. "

"I'm not telling you that you did a good thing. I'm just saying that what you did—it wasn't something you _wanted_."

"He didn't make me."

"Oh?" Anakin asks, finger going to his mouth. Thoughtfully—though, really, just a mockery—he chews on his nail. "I was pretty much out of it once I got that blade shoved through my shoulder, but it's still kind of hard to miss someone threatening to separate your head from your shoulders. And even though you seem convinced that you were evil incarnate, I don't think you were quite at the point where you were radiating red light. I think that was probably Dooku's lightsaber a few inches from my face, am I right?"

"There had to have been another way."

"As far as I can tell?" he says, dropping his hand and watching Obi-Wan. "The only other way would have been to let me die. Personally, I'm glad you didn't try an alternative method."

Anakin is right. He knows he is. Dooku forced his hand, but there is still a part of him that hears the Jedi Council—that hears their admonishments on attachment. They would have told him to let Anakin die, to celebrate his passing into the Force. They would never have advocated that he give in and do what Dooku was stipulating, and truthfully, he can't let that go.

A Jedi would have accepted Anakin's death.

Obi-Wan killed instead.

"So _that's _what's bothering you?" Anakin asks incredulously, suddenly a little closer to flow-blown irritation than he was a few moments ago. Never let it be said that patience is Anakin's strength. He tries, but he can only take so much, and Obi-Wan is tempted to smile just from the way his expression is deteriorating into frustration, exactly like it did when he was a youngling. He still hasn't curbed that particular vice, and seeing an expression an eleven-year-old wore on a grown man—it's humorous... and Force knows Obi-Wan needs the humor.

From where Anakin standing, he moves toward the wall, leaning against it as he massages his forehead with his real hand. "You're upset you broke the Jedi rule about attachment?"

"Anakin, I put your life before the lives of countless others. I—I shouldn't have done that."

"If they were innocent people? Civilians? I'd be inclined to agree with you. My life isn't worth that. But those Seps—they deserved to die anyway, and—"

Anakin stops.

Just stops.

The slow realization dawning on his face is a bit disconcerting. It pushes out the frustration, but there's nothing pretty about what's taking its place. Not pretty at all… but so necessary. Anakin needs to realize what he just said—he needs to see the gravity of it, and not just because that's necessary to understand why Obi-Wan is haunted by what he did. He needs to recognize that he is viewing life in terms of worth, because that is _wrong_. They don't have the right to do that. They shouldn't judge, jury, and executioner—not all three. They have no right to determine the value of the lives of others.

And, yet, they can't escape it.

During the war, they decided who lived and who died. They had men's lives in their hands. They decided to let planets fall to the Separatists—to let people _die_—because other places had greater tactical worth. They have both opted not to send rescue teams out after fallen men because it would spread them too thin. They have also sent men out to save others, and watched those men be slaughtered too. It's a terrible responsibility, and in war, they have to make decisions like this, but they need to realize why it can't be comfortable.

Because when it starts being comfortable? They become men like Dooku, cold and unfeeling, and judging life in terms of what it's worth to _them_.

"I don't want this job anymore, Obi-Wan," Anakin says quietly, leaning further back against the wall and closing his eyes. He looks older like that, with his bangs falling down in his face and with lines of pain and worry carved into is brow. "I don't want to decide who deserves to live and die, or worse yet, whose death presents a lesser loss."

No, neither of them does.

Carefully, Obi-Wan moves forward and leans in against the wall next to Anakin, staring up into his face. "You understand then," he says quietly, "why this decision, right or not, is unacceptable to me."

"Yeah," he replies softly, eyes still closed. "Yeah, I do."

"It's not that I don't understand that I was put in an impossible situation. I see that. Either decision I made would have been terrible. I know that's true. But having it shake my conscience? In some ways, Anakin, that's a good thing."

Anakin opens his eyes and looks over at him. Their normally blue color looks cloudy, like it's mixed with gray. "Not when it pushes you toward the dark side."

"I know. That was the worst decision of all."

He receives a small nod. "What about me, Obi-Wan? I wasn't forced to do what I did."

"No, you weren't. But we both lost control, Anakin. We both let our emotions—my guilt and your pain—push us to a place we shouldn't have gone. We're not so different, you and I. We just pick different poisons."

Another nod, this one sharper, and Anakin crosses his arms over his chest, gripping his own elbows. "What now?" he asks quietly, as solemn as Obi-Wan has ever heard him.

"Now?

"Yeah."

"Now we make sure it doesn't happen again."

A hint of a smile quirks Anakin's lips. He's not happy, but it's something, at least. Better than a moment before, anyway. "I like that," he says quietly, leaning forward to drop his head on Obi-Wan's shoulder. He stays like that for a moment, just breathing quietly.

"We make sure this doesn't happen to us again—and we make sure Dooku can't cause it too, either."

Anakin chuckles and rolls his head to the side, pressing his cheek down into Obi-Wan's shoulder. "We're going to take him down _hard_."

They have no plan, no resources, and no advantages, but when Anakin states things like that, Obi-Wan can't help but believe. Anakin makes him want to hope, and as much as he tries to hide it, his confidence and swagger sometimes sweeps Obi-Wan along with him. In times like these, he needs that. He needs Anakin and his unshakable confidence that sometimes borders on pride. This is why they're the team: they balance each other. They make the other great by magnifying his strengths and minimizing his flaws.

The notion precipitates an unexpected bit of affection, and Obi-Wan drops his head down onto the top of Anakin's. Both of them remain propped against the wall, smiling a little, and in the silence, Obi-Wan allows a very uncharacteristic burst of opposite of humble.

If Dooku thought he was going to destroy them, he was sorely mistaken.

He won't be their downfall.

They will be _his_.

* * *

A droid arrives with clothing around midday. He and Anakin have just finished lunch—or, rather, a tactical session in which their brainstorming turned up nothing—when it enters, instructing Obi-Wan to change and be prepared to be escorted to meet with Dooku.

Personally, Anakin thinks Dooku could at least give Obi-Wan time to let his lunch settle.

Probably Obi-Wan thinks the same, but he's learned the value of keeping his opinions to himself if they won't alter the situation. "Thank you," he tells the droid stiffly as he reaches out to examine the clothes. In another situation, the muted sound of disgust and revulsion he makes when he realizes just what he's been given might border on amusing.

"What is it?" Anakin asks.

Obi-Wan's fingers slide over the black fabric, catching on a highly polished button. The way he eyes it would give anyone the impression that he's just uncovered a new and potentially very dangerous enemy. "Military dress."

"Oh. Your favorite."

Obi-Wan hates military uniforms. He is a Jedi—and Jedi are peacekeepers, not generals. He's only had to don a uniform a few times over the course of the war, and at least then he'd been wearing a Republic uniform. Anakin had always thought his aversion to Republic military style was a bit silly, but wearing the uniform of an officer of the Empire—he can see why Obi-Wan would find that disagreeable.

"I can't believe he'd actually let you command anything."

"This is probably just a new form of torture," he mumbles, fingers picking at the Empire insignia stitched on the chest of the uniform. Pull a little harder, Obi-Wan. Maybe you'll get the stitches out.

"Death by military uniform? Nice idea, but I think you'll survive. You'll probably even attract some attention. Padme tells me girls like men in uniform."

Obi-Wan's upper lip curls into the furthest thing from a smile. That's a dismissal if Anakin's ever seen one. "I'll be sure to pass that on to Dooku."

"I don't think anything's going to help him now, Master. Maybe. I dunno. Ventress might be desperate enough."

"My day is bad enough, Anakin," Obi-Wan mutters, palm going to his forehead and rubbing, "Do _not_ make it worse." Poor man. No one wants that image, and if Anakin were _really_ mean, he'd mention that Dooku is probably only Ventress's second choice—a distant second to Obi-Wan himself, of course.

He doesn't, but he'll probably mention this as negating evidence the next time Obi-Wan accuses him of having no filter on his mouth. Sure, that will mean that he'll actually mention it after all, but, well, he's being nice enough to stay quiet _now_. Obi-Wan should be thankful.

"You're right—you don't need me to do that. You have a meeting with Dooku… in military dress, remember?"

All he receives for his wit is a sharp warning glance. "Meeting with Dooku is the very last thing I want right now."

Clearly. The prospect is making him look twenty years older than he really is.

When Obi-Wan looks like that—looks like he does right now—joke time is over, whether Anakin is done or not. He may like to tease his former master, but when Obi-Wan's really bothered, he knows when to draw the line. "I know," he agrees instead, truly wishing he could find a way for Obi-Wan to avoid this situation.

He hates feeling powerless. So much, he hates it. He felt it too much when he was younger, and the lingering taste is bitter. This situation is something right out of his nightmares.

Lightly, Obi-Wan begins to drum his fingers on the table. There's something oddly elegant about the movement—even Obi-Wan's careless movements have a grace to them—and Anakin simply watches, oddly wishing that maybe he'd picked up a little more of that. "No sense in putting it off, right?"

"If you wait awhile, maybe I can reconfigure what's left of your datapad into something that'll explode. It won't be enough to really hurt him, but at least then no one's outfit is going to look very formal."

Tap, tap, tap. "Sweet of you to offer, but I think I'll be better off just making this quick."

"If I had a few more resources and a little more time, I could make it _real _quick."

Obi-Wan rubs his palm over his forehead, but he does reach stiffly for the uniform and stand up, heading in the direction of the bathroom. Every step looks as though it's paining him, and Anakin tries to find solace in the fact that at least this time, it's not a physical wound that's plaguing Obi-Wan. "Believe me, Anakin, if you could find a way to just blow everything up, at this point, I might not say no."

"I'd like my lightsaber more than explosives! It'd be easier to clean up!" he calls after Obi-Wan's retreating back.

No answer. Just the click of the bathroom door as Obi-Wan shuts it. It's not like he needed an answer anyway. Both of them want their lightsabers. Both of them want a way out of this situation. Obi-Wan doesn't need to agree for Anakin to know he wants that.

Soon, he promises himself. They haven't thought of anything yet, but they will soon.


	25. Chapter 24

**Disclaimer: **I own nothing.

**Feedback**: If you'd be so kind as to leave some, I'll do my best to reply.

**Notes:** ROTS AU.

yellow 14: Oh, yes, Obi-Wan and Ventress. Always an interesting combination (I have actually read fanfics were I find it intriguing and very well done, though as a general rule I don't find it much in character).

Andaere: Yes, Obi-Wan may be being a bit lenient about the pride thing. But, you know, he so often is with Anakin. :) And, please, don't considered your review rambling. It's really a help to know what specific parts of a chapter people enjoyed.

charliebrown1234 : Yes, I liked the image of Ewan McGregor in a military uniform as well!

Tosharino: Oh, they've got something in the works… or they will after this chapter.

Rosabell: Well, Obi-Wan may just turn that uniform into good fortune after all. He's pretty resourceful. :)

Pronker:Dooku is pretty conflicted about just how dark he wants Obi-Wan to be, so his reaction is a bit complicated.

anakinpadmekenobi: Well, Obi-Wan does use the position his uniform puts him in, but not quite in the way that seems obvious.

not paranoid enough: I definitely agree about Anakin. Especially in Attack of the Clones, he was a brat. His character had a few likable traits, but they were far eclipsed by how spoiled and entitled he often acted. That's one thing I actually really like about the new Clone Wars animated series—I think his character is developed more fully, and we get a chance to see what made him likable. And, yes, the rebellion is definitely a factor!

Dawn of Time: I'm glad you decided to give it a chance! Haha, and, no, I've never written a book, but I'm incredibly flattered that you'd even entertain the idea that I could. I'd really like to some day, but I think I'll just do my best to survive my English major (and Political Study major) for the time being. :)

anakinpadmekenobi: Oh, yes, there's a pattern. And interesting about the choking. I would say it's just a use of the Force. It's the intention behind it that makes it light or dark.

* * *

Kenobi presents a respectable figure in a well-tailored military uniform. Smaller—a bit less broad in the shoulders than he looks in his Jedi garments—but the clean lines of black and gray cut him smartly. He looks rigid. Reliable. He always has been, but, in Dooku's mind, looking the part is nearly as important as actually filling it. With his uniform pressed and hair parted immaculately, Obi-Wan fulfills the former, and, as Dooku well knows, the latter as well.

"I would prefer that you do not misunderstand me," Dooku says, rising from his high-backed chair. It used to be Sidious's, just like everything in this office. Though, the garish décor had to go: he's had something more suitably understated installed. Sidious's taste was truly abhorrent.

Kenobi does not seem to appreciate the new brown of the walls, or the softer, more antiquated lighting that casts a refined glow. What Sidious had before—it was so harsh. Dooku much prefers a hint of nobility to a militaristic style, at least in his personal office, though Kenobi clearly disagrees.

Kenobi had glanced about only briefly upon entering, but the way his eyes had roved over the decorations—the expensive pieces of art and the heavy wooden furniture—had reeked of disapproval. He's a Jedi, and therefore used to very spartan living conditions. To him, most else will seem wasteful and superfluous.

"Forgive me," Kenobi says, inclining his head respectfully… or in a near perfect imitation of respect. Only the stiffness of his face gives him away. "I don't believe you have yet said anything that I might misunderstand."

Clever, and Dooku spares him a small smile for his trouble, but chooses to press on rather than address the words that are meant to be provocative and nothing more. "I would be a fool to put you in command of any sort of task force. That would be handing power to a man who would very much like to use it to orchestrate my downfall."

"Oh?" Half-amused, Kenobi tilts his head a few inches to the side. "Then the military attire is simply because everyone loves a man in uniform? Anakin's words—not mine."

Oh, how this man's irreverent sense of humor must have nearly driven Qui-Gon mad. "In a manner of speaking, Skywalker is right, I suppose."

"Well, then while I hate to disappoint, I request permission to don something far more comfortable."

Humorous. Truly, it is, at least in this moment, because Dooku has the upper hand and thus is at liberty to appreciate Kenobi's _unique _style of humor. "I'm afraid that won't be possible." There is little point in withholding information. Kenobi needs his assignment, after all. It's possible that he may find this one as abhorrent as the last. "While you will be in command of nothing, the public at large has no need of that knowledge."

No, Kenobi clearly does not approve. His face twists as though he's smelling something particularly fowl, reminding Dooku momentarily of a temperamental child. There isn't much about Obi-Wan Kenobi that draws associations with childhood, but as much as this man would like to deny it, he does possess vulnerabilities.

Dooku was witness to them the previous evening… just as he clearly saw his own.

Regrettably, he has been unsuccessful in resolving his intentions and emotions in regards to last night's mixture of success and… not failure, but perhaps setback. In one sense, things went very well: he has seen just what Kenobi will do to keep Skywalker safe; additionally, Kenobi did an excellent job of disposing of the Separatist Council. Quite good work. Dooku was very pleased.

On the other hand, his decision to show any sort of affection to Kenobi was a poor one. Padawan of his padawan or not, Kenobi dislikes him with a deep-rooted animosity that is somewhat surprising given his commitment to an order that preaches against such strong feeling. And while Dooku is… fond of this man, he has other priorities. Yes, he would consider it a pleasure to truly call Obi-Wan Kenobi an ally. This man is, after all, nearly his grandson. Is it so wrong that he would like to have some semblance of family? Kenobi is his only real chance at that—it is logical that he should feel a sort of positive emotion toward the man, much the same as he felt toward Qui-Gon.

However, his fondness for Kenobi cannot be a priority. He can indulge himself and keep Kenobi alive while still using him to serve other purposes, though he can do nothing more if it threatens to complicate his affairs. It's a compromise of sorts… and if Kenobi wishes to cooperate—well, then perhaps he can be more generous.

But he will arrange that cooperation later.

For now, he must be content to simply manipulate Kenobi into doing the job he wishes for him to do.

"A figurehead, then?" Kenobi asks, disdainful.

"You were a general of the Republic. A war hero. If General Obi-Wan Kenobi joins the Empire, others will be more inclined to accept what is being presented to them."

"Playing on respect? That's a new low, even for you." His eyes shimmer with barely concealed disgust. That sort of look seems strange on him, colder, as though the sense of rigidity that the military uniform projects is spreading to his emotions.

Dooku smiles thinly. "A speech has been prepared for you."

"I have stage fright," he deadpans. "It's why I never liked to speak to holonet reporters."

Kenobi truly needs to spend less time in the company of Skywalker. A comment of that nature is far too similar to something that boy would say. What a pleasure it would be to permanently remove the irritant who masquerades as the Chosen One. It's regrettable that Kenobi would object.

"Do not test me, Obi-Wan," he replies evenly, carefully keeping his emotions in check.

Something shifts—in the Force, in Kenobi's face—and when he looks up this time, his eyes seem different. The change isn't overt, but it still commands notice. Yes. Notice. Kenobi wants him to take note of whatever he's about to say.

"It's not a test," he tells Dooku quietly, reaching out and spreading his hands on Dooku's desk as he leans over, locking their gazes. "I don't need to test you. That would be pointless. I already know what you're capable of."

"Spoken as a true master. Quite a pity I'm the furthest thing from your padawan."

A small curl of his mouth, though not particularly amused, gives very little away. There's no laughter in his eyes. Dooku doesn't imagine there's much in his own, either. "You're right. You're nothing like Anakin. Anakin turned out quite well."

Oh? That's an interesting theory. "You're proud of his accomplishments, then?" he asks as he leans back in his chair, pressing his fingertips together and propping his wrists on the edge of his desk. "Mass murder? Deception? Betrayal?"

"And, yet, he's still firmly on the side of the light."

"I don't consider that success."

Kenobi still doesn't straighten up, and Dooku gets the sudden, sinking feeling that he's been had, even if only to some small degree. Kenobi looks far too pleased. "Really? I think you know how alone you are. I think you know just where the dark side has put you, and I believe that you regret that, but that you're too drunk on power to turn back. You've destroyed yourself, and to some degree, I suspect that you wish you hadn't. I think that's why you want me to join you. At the risk of being trite, I do have to say, it's true that misery loves company."

It's a willful presumption. He's killed men for less.

Clearly, last night was such a mistake. He shouldn't have been so kind. Kenobi will use it—_is _using it. However, even Dooku is unable to fix the past: best to capitalize on what he has now. Kenobi saw him vulnerable, and he's trying to play on it. Dooku knows what Kenobi is doing, and therefore it shouldn't be so difficult to turn it back on him.

What Kenobi is attempting—it is a clever strategy, though not one that's terribly original. Hit where an opponent is weakest. It truly is a bit of a disappointment that Kenobi cannot understand that Dooku himself has perfected this strategy under Sidious… who, ironically, had been implementing it on Kenobi's own apprentice. Poor Skywalker. Such a pawn.

"You confuse my sympathy for you—sympathy for your difficulties coping with your actions and the power of the darkness—with my own regret." How satisfying to see Kenobi startle, just a fraction. Truly, he should have seen the turnabout coming. Overlooking that is not up to his usual standards. "I care for you, Obi-Wan, because of who your master was. I would like for you to cooperate with me."

Always, when he interacts with Kenobi, it feels as though he's engaging in a game of dejarik. They match mental wit against mental wit, always anticipating each other's moves. Quite likely, this is why he respects Kenobi in his own right—the man is smart and quite capable. He's a good opponent... he'll make a good ally.

But if Dooku desires to win, he needs to plan what moves he will make far before the actual opportunity arises.

When Kenobi's fingers tighten on the desk, and he leans in a just a little more, eyes blazing, Dooku knows he failed to do that.

This round will go to Kenobi.

"I'm not Qui-Gon Jinn."

No. No, he is not. Strong-willed and too intelligent for his own good, yes, but not Qui-Gon Jinn. But, oh, he is such a reminder.

_Respond_, Dooku's mind says. Don't give Kenobi the satisfaction. But nothing comes, and he's left sitting in his chair, face blank and emotionless, staring up into Kenobi's confident one. Kenobi knows he's won this match, and his lips twitch, pushing as close to smug as he'll go right now.

"Where will I be giving my speech?" That's not acquiescence—it's a subtle dig. It's evidence that Kenobi has gained enough control to match Dooku's own with it. He's flaunting the fact that Dooku doesn't have the entire situation under his thumb.

Maybe this man isn't Qui-Gon Jinn.

But he's every bit as clever. Maybe even more so.

"In the Senate in an hour. Make it dramatic."

Polished boots clicking on the floor, Kenobi gives him a final, sharp nod, and turns on his heel. Click, click, click. Then, a quick pause at the door, a precise salute accompanied by a small smile—a subtle mockery of his position—before he's gone altogether.

Dooku is left sitting his chair, alone in his office once again.

And this time, all he can do is tilt his head back and laugh.

He's been beaten. It's not humorous in the least—but what _is_ worth laughing over is just how much worthier that makes Kenobi in his eyes. The man defeats him, and Dooku only respects him that much more for it. A confident man will do that, he would argue. At least, he'll either be wise enough to kill off opponents who challenge him, or to force them to work for him. He'll do the later with Kenobi… and if Kenobi will not give in, then it will still be something of a prize to know that he has ultimately defeated the man. Either way, it was a good decision to keep Kenobi alive. It's been quite a long time since Dooku has enjoyed the company of another sentient this much.

"You'd be quite proud of your apprentice, Qui-Gon," he says to the empty room. "Quite proud, indeed. I thank you for training him well enough to serve my purposes."

Should he feel some guilt for taking a good life and twisting it to fit with what he wants? Perhaps, but he's been alone a long time. Kenobi was right in that, at least. He is lonely, and willing or not, Kenobi fills the space quite nicely, and he's a competent employee as well.

It would be a foolish notion to think otherwise. Of course he's competent. Qui-Gon trained him. Most would likely say it's foolish to feel as though he has some claim on Kenobi's skills merely because he trained the man who trained Kenobi, but he can't altogether deny that feeling. In some ways, he'd like to think he helped make Kenobi what he is. Whether or not that is true, he's too interested in him now to want to dispose of him.

"I do hope you taught him the good sense of acquiescing when he's hopelessly beat, Qui-Gon." He pauses then. Qui-Gon. This is no longer just a favor to him, the courtesy of letting the boy his padawan loved as a son live. Now, he's beginning to see what Qui-Gon cared for.

Such an asset, is young Obi-Wan. Bright, too. Worthy of being a part of Dooku's lineage.

And, for that, he will live.

"I'd thank you, you know, my old padawan" he tells the empty air, "if you were still here to hear it. But your apprentice fills the space quite nicely."

Obi-Wan is still not necessary. He is an indulgence, a tribute to the notion of a family Dooku will never quite have—that he _never_ had, not even with Qui-Gon. But this notion will be enough. Obi-Wan is still dispensable, but so useful, and he fills the space.

He fills the space _so _well.

Yes, Kenobi will make a fine tribute to the part of Dooku that still cares. And in Kenobi, that part can rest.

To the rest of the world, he need not show it.

* * *

"At least we know he's not what he's going to appear to be on the holonet."

Grimacing—her head is _throbbing_—Padme nods and scrubs a hand over her forehead and down her cheek. The latest conversation between Dooku and Obi-Wan, overheard moments ago courtesy of the bug that was planted, is certainly not helping. "Did you expect anything less?"

"The report you gave about what happened on Utapau… was not encouraging."

She shouldn't be so annoyed with Bail for his lack of faith… but she is. If they can't have faith in their friends, what _can _they have faith in? "He's your friend too, Bail," she snaps. "You want to start doubting him? Fine. But I'm not going to."

Bail holds his hands up in a gesture of surrender, and immediately Padme feels sorry. That wasn't necessary. Bail is only thinking like a tactician. In this situation, it's the right way to think. They can't base tactics on personal relationships.

"I'm sorry."

He waves her off. "No need. We're all tired."

Tired. Yes, well, that's one word for it. She's not sleeping well, and that wasn't helped by the fact that she spent this morning curled over the toilet heaving. Morning sickness is not what she needs right now.

People haven't noticed yet. She's not showing much. But at four months, it won't be long. And what then? Her current job isn't going to allow her to hide her condition under elaborate styles of dress like she could have as a Senator.

There's so much to think about, and her head gives a particularly nasty throb just at the prospect. For now, she just can't think about the baby. For this moment, she has to be Padme Amidala, rebel leader.

"They were clever to get a tracker on Dooku," Bail says slowly, twirling his pen in between his fingers. "I wonder how they did it.

She just shrugs. "Hard to tell. Anakin probably built it."

"You know him well, yes?" He pauses then, watching her carefully. He's still twirling the pen, but it's obvious his attention is not even remotely on that mindless movement.

"Of course. We're friends. I know he's good at fixing things. Just like I'm sure you know things about Obi-Wan. Friends know things about each other."

He arches an eyebrow. "Padme, you're friends with Obi-Wan, too. The sort of relationship you have with _him_—with _me,_even—_that's _friendship. What you have with Anakin Skywalker…"

"I don't want to talk about this."

She can't lie. She just can't do it right now. She's too tired, and stressed, and worried, and her head _hurts_—

"I think no answer is answer enough."

"It's not your business."

He finally sets the pen aside. "How long, Padme?" Leaning forward, he stares over the table at her, waiting for the answer that he clearly knows he'll get if he keeps pushing.

There's no denying that. He _will _get an answer… and maybe it's because she just wants to tell so badly.

"Since Geonosis."

Apparently, that wasn't quite what he was expecting, but he hides it skillfully, with the exception of one small twitch of his eyebrows and a barely noticeable intake of breath. "Well," he says simply, like he can't think of anything else.

"Yes, well."

"Does Obi-Wan know?"

"Not until recently."

"Bet he took that well."

Not really, but he was too busy with the concept of her pregnancy to worry about the finer details. She's pretty certain he doesn't want to know much of the particulars, at least not beyond basic knowledge of how this happened right in front of his face. Willing blindness is a strength of his, though only when concerning Anakin, and the more she thinks about that, the more that she's certain it's an indication of how much he cares for her husband. He lets things go with Anakin that he'd never ignore with anyone else.

He's a good person, Obi-Wan Kenobi. Has he made mistakes? Yes, but who hasn't? It doesn't change what she knows: that he's a good man, a kind man, who cares in a way the Jedi would have wanted him to deny.

"Ask him yourself."

Bail shrugs. "Maybe over drinks. I'll bet he could use one… or five."

"So could I," she mutters, rubbing both her hands over her face. This headache just won't ease up.

"After we bring down Dooku, we'll _all_ have a drink."

"If."

"When."

She envies him his optimism. Truly, she does. For once, though, she'd like to not be fighting for something so big. She had a glimpse of that with Anakin, a hope of nothing more complicated than a family and a good life with a man she loved. Some part of her had almost welcomed the prospect of being removed from the Senate once she had her children. She could have been a mother. Just a mother.

"We need to plan," she says, dropping her hands back to the table.

Maybe in another life she could have simply been a mother. Unfortunately, that life is not this one. She's not even going to _have _a life if they can't win this. Duty comes first.

Bail nods. "This information won't be much help. All it really tells us is that, as shaken as he was the last time you saw him, Obi-Wan is still solidly on our side. I suppose it also tells us that he dislikes wearing a military uniform, but I'm not sure that's really relevant."

"And it tells us that Anakin is alive," she adds softly. That's so important. Her heart had skipped when she'd heard Obi-Wan mention Anakin. Her husband is alive.

Unconsciously, she smoothes her hand over her stomach, slow and careful. _Your daddy will come home. He's all right. He's still alive._

Unfortunately, Bail notices.

"Breha used to do that."

She drops her hand to her lap and glances back up at Bail. In an effort to cover, she pulls the folder on the table in front of her into her easy reach and begins to thumb through it. She's read it twice already, but that's irrelevant, since her eyes skim over the words without taking in a thing. "Pardon?"

"When she was pregnant. Before she miscarried. She'd run her hand over her stomach like that."

Right. Well. He already knows about her and Anakin. Might as well let him know about the baby too, yes? That's a hysterical thought. Not hysterical as in funny, but hysterical as in crazy. Maybe she's going crazy.

Just lovely.

"Oh, Padme," he sighs, and this time, he's the one running a hand over his face. "Does Anakin know?"

"I entrusted Obi-Wan with the pleasure of telling him."

"What?" Despite the circumstances, Bails laughs. He looks suitably shocked, and he just keeps laughing, ducking his head to the side and glancing away, like he can't believe what he's just heard. He probably can't. "Oh, Force, poor Obi-Wan."

"Personally, I pity Anakin the lecture he must have gotten."

"I'll bet," he answers, sobering quickly. "If there was a way to get him out of there, Padme—"

"Obi-Wan would probably already have done it."

"Skywalker couldn't have a better partner, Padme."

No, and Obi-Wan couldn't either. They'll take care of each other. She knows they will, but until she has her husband back in her arms, she can't relax, regardless of how well she knows they watch out for each other. It was that way during the war. It's that way now. "No," she agrees. "That's true. What he did to the Separatist Council—"

"Was something I'm guessing he was forced to do to insure that Anakin kept his head?"

"Yes."

"It's still a war crime, Padme. He… can't just do that."

The nerve of that. Maybe it's the fact that she hasn't slept, or maybe she's just genuinely this irritated, but the admittedly short fuse on her temper ignites. It flat-out _immolates_. "He did it to _sav_e _my husband's life_!" she snaps. How could he even _suggest_—?

"Yes." He's trying to stay calm. She can see it, but she doesn't want him to be calm. She wants this fight, because what he's saying—it boils her blood. "But it's still—"

"You want to try him for it, Bail?" she shouts, her voice rising. Furiously, she shoves her chair back and stands, slamming a palm down on the table. "Tell you what: I'll do up the paperwork for you. You sign. We'll charge Obi-Wan Kenobi as a war criminal, and we'll do it _smiling. _How about that?"

"Padme, that wasn't what I meant. You know that. You're tired, and worried—"

"WORRIED? I'M NEARLY HYSTERICAL!"

Her husband could die. His best friend—_her _friend—killed to keep him alive. She's pregnant. Their lives are all falling to pieces before them. It's all too much, and she really shouldn't admit to losing her control—though it's fairly obvious that she is—but at this point, she's past caring.

"I'm not suggesting we press charges."

"No." Of course not. Stating that Obi-Wan committed a war crime in no way suggests that. What in the galaxy was she thinking?

She takes a deep breath, smoothing out the lines of her dress. "Do what you want, Bail, but I will never betray Obi-Wan Kenobi. This is one secret that I'm keeping. You say you're his friend. Prove it."

"Padme—"

"I don't want to hear it."

"This isn't Anakin we're talking about."

That's a low blow. "No," she shoots back, hand on the back of her chair for balance. "He isn't. But you think it won't hurt my husband if the man who raised him gets brought to trial for murders committed to save_ him_? You know what, never mind. Thanks to Dooku, Anakin is a convicted criminal, too. He and Obi-Wan can get a cell together."

Bail closes his eyes and takes a deep breath. "You're not being reasonable."

"No," she replies simply. "No, I'm not. And you're being _too _reasonable."

"I'm not going to have him tried, Padme. You know that."

"Do I?"

"I think you do."

Her hand clenches on the back of the chair so tightly that she chips a nail. In one sense, Bail is right: she's tired and worried, and she's not handling this well. She _does _know that Bail won't have Obi-Wan prosecuted. She knows that, but she needs an outlet for everything she's been feeling, and the suggestion alone was enough to focus her anger on Bail. Is that fair? Probably not.

Quite frankly, she doesn't care.

"I'll be back later," she says icily, marching toward the door. There's always some satisfaction to be had in walking out on someone. "When I come back, we can listen to a mass murderer give a speech he doesn't believe."

"Padme—"

She shuts the door quickly with the express purpose of cutting off his words.

Let him talk to no one. She has nothing more to say to him. Obi-Wan might have done something very wrong, but how can she condemn him after what Anakin did the Tusken Raiders who killed his mother? She can't condemn either of them. They both did it for someone they loved.

Whether or not Bail understands that, she _does._

And she will stand by both of them.

* * *

Obi-Wan absolutely abhors political functions. It is, as far as he can tell, a breeding ground for insincerity, where everyone has an ulterior motive, and they all are merely trying to advance their own interests. He can almost feel the self-seeking attitudes choking him.

He doesn't bother to try and make small talk. Dooku told him to come and make a speech. He did that. It was nauseating. He hated every moment of it. Thus, he will not exceed his commands and even make a passable effort at being polite.

He sips a drink instead. Is there some way he could smuggle some of this back to Anakin? He deserves a drink, too.

"You have better manners than this. I suggest you use them."

Obi-Wan scowls into his drink. There are over three hundred corrupt politicians in this room, and Dooku has to seek _him _out? Isn't his day bad enough already? Does Dooku really need to make it worse?

"You specified that I give a speech. Socializing with your minions was not a requirement."

"Master Kenobi, you are not a petty man, and this sort of behavior is decidedly petty."

"I suppose that compromises your theory then, doesn't it?"

Though displeasure reads clearly on Dooku's face, his composure stays intact, and he merely regards Obi-Wan evenly. Then, leaning forward, he plucks the drink out of Obi-Wan's hand and deposits it on a passing tray. "Do not test me, Obi-Wan."

"I already told you: I'm not testing. I know what you're capable of."

Dooku leans in a few inches closer, and in a low voice accented with threat, he murmurs, "I believe you understand the importance of doing a job completely. However, if you have changed your mind and feel that completeness is no longer necessary, we will test the theory on Skywalker. After all, he does not truly _need _that mechanical hand to function."

The moment Anakin is safely out of Dooku's grip, Obi-Wan is never going to do another thing this man wants… because, clearly, Anakin is the only leverage he's got. Of course, that poses a significant problem: because Anakin's well-being is a very solid motivator.

Without a word—a caustic comment hardly even seems worth the effort, since Dooku will have already derived too much pleasure from getting what he wants to be cut by anything Obi-Wan will say—Obi-Wan turns and heads in the direction of the closest person who also has the misfortune of being forced to wear a uniform of the Empire.

He can feel Dooku's satisfaction in the Force.

He ignores it.

Ten minutes later, Obi-Wan is seriously considering whether Anakin really does needthat hand. Would he be willing to function without it in order to keep Obi-Wan sane? Because this man with whom he's speaking—general something-or-another who has top security clearance to what he's practically describing as the afterlife in the Force itself—is reminding him quite clearly of why he loathes these political events.

It's truly a pity that Anakin and Padme couldn't be more forthcoming about their marriage. It would have been a pleasure to see Anakin try to survive accompanying her to one of these functions.

"Yes, and while the men I'm commanding are _good_, I intend to drill until they are the _best_. Never settle for less, you know. That's what I always say—"

What he always says? Oh, if only this man weren't saying _anything_. He's still fairly young—maybe about Obi-Wan's age—but there's a bloated quality to his face that makes him look over indulged. It's also possible that Obi-Wan is projecting based on his less-than-generous feeling toward this waste of human matter, or, ehem, _man_.

"With my clearance it shouldn't be too difficult to obtain the resources I need."

Yes, his clearance. Obi-Wan knows. He's made that quite clear. He's got _clearance_.

And, suddenly, that clicks.

This man has _clearance._

"Yes," he says, smiling and crossing his arms as he studies the man in front of him. He hadn't been interested before, but now that this has become relevant, Obi-Wan snaps back into the form which war conditioned him into. Every little detail needs to be analyzed. There's a scuff on his shoe. He's in shape. He has a slight lisp. It might all be important. It's hard to tell. "Clearly, Dooku has entrusted quite a lot to you."

The man practically puffs out with pride. Obi-Wan knows this type: greedy, selfish men who love to gorge themselves on power. There's an advantage to be had in that: they're so eager to hear what they want, and so confident in their own ability, that they often overlook anything that might indicate the contrary.

"I like to think I've earned it."

"I imagine you had to work quite hard for your clearance card."

_Take it out. Please, take it out. _

And he does, just like Obi-Wan had hoped. This man can't resist the chance to gloat.

Like a spoiled child showing off a new toy, the man pulls out the card and holds it for Obi-Wan to see. Unfortunately, he's not nearly as important as he'd like to think, as Obi-Wan sees when the man hands him the card and he gets a look at it himself. The man is a nobody, by all accounts, in charge of a small military company within a larger legion. More than likely Dooku would have removed him from power within a few weeks once his incompetence became clear.

Because, clearly, he _is _incompetent.

No one with any sense would give a former Jedi access to his card. Of course, this man is probably foolish enough to believe that Obi-Wan is allowed to check something like that. Standard protocol for him to be checking these things, you know, since such an important figurehead is he.

"You never had a clearance card," Obi-Wan says quietly, waving his hand in front of the man's face.

The man's gaze slides out of focus. "I never had a clearance card."

"You never met me."

He nods, eyes blank and tone dull. "I never met you."

"You want to go have a few drinks now."

"I want to go have a few drinks now."

"Very good," he says, giving the man one last smile and beating a hasty retreat before the effects of his mind-trick settle enough to let the man return to reality. With any luck, the man will get himself drunk, Dooku will dismiss him, and therefore the man will never have the opportunity to discover that he would need clearance to operate as an administrator in Dooku's regime. Additionally, if that happens then he'll be more difficult to track down once Obi-Wan makes use of his card and Dooku needs to question its rightful owner.

Now, just to survive the rest of this function.

Then, he can discuss with Anakin how best to use the new opportunity that has been acquired.


	26. Chapter 25

**Disclaimer: **I own nothing.

**Feedback**: If you'd be so kind as to leave some, I'll do my best to reply.

**Notes:** ROTS AU.

yellow 14: I suspect you're right about Qui-Gon liking Obi-Wan's humor. Strangely enough, I think Dooku appreciates it too.

Andaere: Well, I certainly wouldn't want you to lose your mind! :) And speaking of Fire and Ice, that does remind me that I need to go back and reformat that sometime. Anyway, it is quite true that Dooku has been winning a lot lately, but, believe me, Obi-Wan is about to win big. And Dooku… well, I wouldn't anticipate his death quite yet.

charliebrown1234 : Yeah, the clearance card offers some possibilities, doesn't it? Obi-Wan will make the most of it. :)

XxRandom NemesisxX: Haha, thanks! I appreciate that, but I think getting published will be quite a while yet, if ever. There are a lot of people out there with more talent and far more experience. That's what fanfiction is for—give me some practice.

ThE-CrAzY-01: Dooku won't get away with this stuff forever.

Tosharino: It's been slow in coming, but they are finally getting their opportunity.

Mreeb: Honestly, the thing I adore most about Obi-Wan's character is his fantastic sense of humor. It's so unique and SO much fun to write.

Pronker:Obi-Wan in a military uniform? I don't think there's a girl anywhere who wouldn't like to see that. More seriously, though, I think you're very right in pointing out that Padme has been able to move past what her role w_as_, whereas Bail is having more trouble. He is on her side, though, and even though he stated that Obi-Wan had committed a crime, he never really intended to have him tried for it.

anakinpadmekenobi: It's true: Dooku _is _very contradictory. He likes to think he's got everything figured out, but when you throw in personal feelings, he's as fallible as anyone else.

Booknerd101: You're absolutely right about Anakin being sort of Dooku's great-grandson. Odd that Dooku doesn't acknowledge that, isn't it? I actually did that on purpose: I wanted to make it clear that, even if Dooku would like to think so, it's not _just_ about who trained whom, at least not entirely. Dooku is so heavily intrigued by Obi-Wan 1) because he was close to Qui-Gon and is thus sort of a remnant of someone Dooku cared for (far more than Anakin would be a remnant, as Anakin only knew him briefly) and 2) because Dooku can see similarities between himself and Obi-Wan. About the second question, though: no, Grevious won't show up in this story. Honestly, I really just forgot about him. Let's just say he ran off after the droid army was decommissioned, hmm? (Aka, my bad, I'll try to add some line at some point in order to fill that plot hole—thanks for catching it).

Rosabell: You're opinion is always very welcomed and very much appreciated! I do have to disagree with you, though, about Dooku being slightly out of character by analyzing all his interactions with Obi-Wan: Obi-Wan is always a sort of exception. He makes Dooku do things he wouldn't normally do, most notably _care_. It's because it's _Obi-Wan_ that he bothers to pick apart every little detail. Anyone else, and he wouldn't care nearly as much. He'd have a reaction like he did in the Senate. You do raise a very good point about Anakin needing some dialogue with Dooku, though—when I originally was writing this part, I thought the same thing, which is actually why Anakin interacts with Dooku in the next chapter.

* * *

"I need you to cut my hair."

Anakin is sprawled on the couch, hand lazily grazing the floor, fingertips just barely skimming as he watches another podracing vid. It's been a fairly uneventful evening where he's been left alone with his own thoughts. Quite honestly, he had been looking forward to Obi-Wan's return: he doesn't really like his own inner monologue sometimes.

And, clearly, Obi-Wan's about to make his evening more interesting.

"Ah, pardon?"

"Short, please. Similar to how it was when I was first your master, but a fringe to cover my forehead."

Anakin sits up, holovid forgotten. "You like your hair the way it is. Why would you want me to do that?"

"I can't look like myself." He's already hurrying around the kitchen, busying himself with retrieving the items they'll need. The way he moves—it's with a nervous energy that coils in his limbs, holding back energy, but indicating that when he needs it, it'll be there. He's like this before battle. Ready. Anticipatory. At his most efficient.

Anakin feels something inside of him shift. If Obi-Wan is ready for something, he better be too.

Once Obi-Wan has collected the items he needs, he places them on the table and pulls out a chair, looking at Anakin expectantly. There's no question in his gaze: just a clear, calm stare.

"Why not?" Anakin asks slowly.

He's at least curious enough to get up and move toward the table. Obi-Wan has always liked to keep his hair a bit longer, at least since he'd been allowed to grow it out. That was why, of course: only padawans have short-cropped hair. He was a knight, and then a master. Jedi of those ranks typically kept their hair longer to signify their status—that they weren't required to keep it short anymore.

"Here." Carefully, Obi-Wan pulls something out of his pocket and thrusts it out toward Anakin.

Anakin takes it in his fingers, turning it over slowly. That feeling Obi-Wan gave him—that knowledge that something is about to happen—flips over inside him and expands.

Impossible. Obi-Wan is good, but he can't be _this _good.

"How did you get this?"

"You don't have enough faith in me," he says with a smile. "I'm clever."

"And so humble too."

"I've been around you for a very long time."

"I make you humble?"

Obi-Wan just chuckles and settles himself down in the chair, hands resting on his knees. "Oh, Anakin, I've never met anyone who's as adept at pointing out my faults as you are."

He does his best. Someone's got to, and it might as well be him, since otherwise the venerable Jedi Master Obi-Wan Kenobi might never hear any criticism. He's the golden boy of the Council. Perfect Jedi. Of course, none of them ever had the pleasure of living with Obi-Wan. He's got his faults. Obsessive-compulsive disorder is probably one of them, or so Anakin enjoys claiming.

"So," he continues, handing the clearance card back to Obi-Wan, "you want me to cut your hair? You're not going to look like the guy you stole that card from, even if I do. It'd take a lot of work to be that ugly."

"I don't need to look like him. I just need to not look like me."

He steps up behind Obi-Wan and grabs the cutting shears off the table. "A quick in and out job, then? What do you have planned?"

Obi-Wan leans his head back, threads his hands through his hair to loosen it, and then shakes it out. "I already have the means to look like a soldier. That will keep anyone from immediately assuming I'm out of place, thereby giving me a bit of time to look around, arrange for a ship to be ready to go. Fueled, pre-flight check, etc. I also hope I'll be able to find a detonator to open our door with."

Nodding, Anakin combs out Obi-Wan's hair and reaches for the shears again. It's not like this is the first time they've ever had to alter their appearance by hacking off some hair, but Anakin is always a little disconcerted when Obi-Wan significantly alters appearance. For him, his former master represents stability—he doesn't like when he changes, even in something as simple as how he wears his hair.

"So, blow the door off, escape to the hanger, and then what? We'll never make it off Coruscant without a huge head start. Unless you can get the code to our door—which, since I'm sure only Dooku has that, is out of the question—we're going to make some noise opening it, and Dooku will have everyone up and on alert before we could clear the atmosphere. If you want to both get off planet _and _blow open the door, you'd have to have someone creating a distraction—covering you once you took off. We don't have that."

Obi-Wan gives him a nudge, clearly wanting him to get going. Fine. Anakin reaches out and clips off the first piece of hair. The copper lock drops to the floor like it was never attached at all.

"Leave that to me. I'll have a distraction."

"I don't like guessing games."

"You don't trust me?" He doesn't even bother to sound hurt—it's more of a challenge than a guilt trip.

"Of course I do—"

"Then trust I've got this under control. It's better you don't know anyway, just in case Dooku intercepts you. Now, do your job."

Obi-Wan can be so pushy sometimes. Anakin has half a mind to shave his head and see if he's still got such a quick tongue then. He probably would. He'd likely make the best of it, just to irritate Anakin.

"All right, fine. Keep your secrets. When are we going to do this?"

"Dooku wants to meet with me tonight. I'll take out the clones when they come to escort me and then sneak off."

"That won't give you much time. Dooku will know you're gone pretty quickly.

"I'll use a mind trick on the clones. Convince them I'm ill," he explains, shaking out his hair when Anakin indicates for him to do so. A shower of copper falls over his front and down his back to the ground. "They'll go back and tell Dooku, and of course he'll wish to see for himself. He's rather paranoid about things of that nature. When he comes to check, you'll stall."

"All of that's probably only going to buy you about half an hour at _most_," Anakin points out, still clipping. "And how are you going to blast open the door to the apartment if he's still here?"

"Eventually, let him see that I'm not here."

"And then let you know?"

"Yes."

This is the beauty of working with Obi-Wan. Regular Jedi would be unable to send mental commands so easily. It's not as though he and Obi-Wan can hold a conversation in their minds, but transmitting feelings is relatively simple for them. A quick pulse of warning will be all that Obi-Wan needs, and that's well within Anakin's capabilities.

"Then you'll come back and we'll be on our way?"

"Actually, you'll get the ship out of the hangar. Don't wait. I'll steal a fighter or something compatible, and I'll meet you outside the atmosphere. Then, if all goes according to plan, we'll be on our way."

Carefully, he evens out a patch of Obi-Wan's hair. It seems so short now, and while Anakin hasn't quite followed directions—he's left the hair just long enough that it isn't spiky like it was when Obi-Wan was a padawan—it's significantly shorter, and the bangs in front run straight across his forehead instead of falling there when he can't be bothered to push them back. He looks different enough to pass on first glance, but they'll still certainly have to edit other parts of his appearance.

"Nothing ever goes according to plan, Master."

"But we usually get the job done regardless."

"I'd still like to know how you're going to create a diversion big enough to give us cover while we leave Coruscant."

Obi-Wan heaves a sigh, playing at being vexed with Anakin's persistence. Well, he may not exactly be _playing_… "Mind trick a few clones, perhaps influence them to attack the Temple—"

"There's no way that will be enough. You're talented, Master, but you can't influence that many people at once."

"Then we'll just have to get creative, won't we? Prove how good a pilot you are."

He finishes trimming the back of Obi-Wan's hair. "You're going to gamble our escape on my piloting skills?"

"You're the best pilot the Order has ever seen. I'd say it's a good bet."

Right. Well. That's… oddly uplifting.

It's not as though Obi-Wan has never told him he's a good pilot. He always has, and he's backed that up by letting Anakin take the lead in flight operations. Anakin _knows_ Obi-Wan thinks he's talented, but there's still something about hearing him _say _that which makes him feel as though he's got a small balloon of happiness expanding inside of him. Compliments from Obi-Wan are always like that, because Obi-Wan is sparing with them. He only gives them when deserved… and it's nice for Anakin to know that Obi-Wan thinks he's deserving. His approval means a lot.

"Your hair's done."

"I'll shave my beard too."

"I figured."

"Do we have any ink?"

"Ink?"

"I'd like to change hair color, and as we don't have dye handy, ink will stain it fairly well in the short term."

"I think we've got some."

Obi-Wan rises from his chair, shaking the cuttings off his shoulders and onto the floor. He hardly even glances at them, but the way his hand rubs over what's left on his head indicates that he's a bit thrown by the change. Though he's been through countless battles, when Obi-Wan has the chance, he is generally meticulous about his appearance.

"Wonderful. Get that for me, would you? I'm going to go shave."

"About time. You know, when I get the chance, I think I'll call Duchess Satine and let her know that you've shaved the offense growth that was 'hiding too much of your handsome face.'"

A dishcloth hits Anakin on the side of the head, obstructing his view and causing him to stumble. He just barely catches himself on the wall. Scowling, he yanks the rag off and throws it back at Obi-Wan, who merely catches it and puts it back in its place.

"Oh, so sorry," he apologizes, his face the very picture of innocence. How unfair that he can pull that look off so well. This is why people trust him: he just _looks _honest.

Anakin mutters something very uncomplimentary in Huttese under his breath and stomps off to get the ink. The clear tone of Obi-Wan's laugh follows after him.

Once he's sure he's out of Obi-Wan's sight, Anakin smiles too.

* * *

Anakin is a smart person. He has a mind for tactics, and his sense of humor is quick; he picks things up quickly. But, intelligent or not, his loyalty never fails to override his good sense and analysis of a situation. Obi-Wan was counting on that, and it didn't fail him.

Anakin believed the plans Obi-Wan laid out. He found the hole in them, but when the only answer he received was "trust me," he did. Trusting Obi-Wan when told to is about the only thing he's ever mindlessly obeyed his master in.

Obi-Wan almost regrets that Anakin will undoubtedly regret that.

He won't be getting on that ship with Anakin. There is simply no way. In order to make an escape, there will have to be cover fire—other ships with which to distract Dooku. Even then, it will be difficult. And the only way to get the help that they need?

Is by _calling _for it.

As of now, they have one means of communication with the outside world. They have one way of reaching the rebellion… and that is the transmitter on Dooku's shoe. In order for the rebellion to hear what they need to hear, Dooku will have to hear it too, and once he does, Obi-Wan will not be going anywhere.

He lied to Anakin. He won't be meeting him. Instead, he's set him up and put him in a position where the members of the rebellion can physically drag him out of harm's way. He doesn't envy the people that have to do it, but at this point, he's more concerned with Anakin's safety.

He will do what he must.

"You know," he begins conversationally, hand going to his now beardless chin. Goodness, that feels strange. He can't stroke his beard in thought anymore. "I don't much fancy a chat with Dooku tonight."

The clones in front of him don't reply. Yes, such a surprise. He shouldn't expect much else anymore, but there's a part of him that still can't quite accept that these men aren't the individuals he thought they were. He still sees separate personalities. In fact, he's almost tempted to ask if they know Cody or Rex, just for old time's sake.

Not tonight, though. He has other matters to attend to.

Smiling a bit, Obi-Wan pulls up short and waits for the clones to turn to face him. "General—" one begins, a hint of a sigh in his voice as he reaches for Obi-Wan's arm to pull him along.

"I was never here," Obi-Wan tells him pleasantly, waving a hand in front of his face. Meticulously, he wraps the Force around the clone's mind, weaving in the suggestion until he's sure it's taken hold.

"I—you were never here."

"Sir?" the second of the three clones says. He's wearing a helmet, but Obi-Wan is fairly certain that if he could see his face, he'd be treated to a look of confusion.

"I was never here," Obi-Wan repeats, and then does it again to the third clone. He can feel their minds yielding to him, twisting with the Force. There's something almost beautiful about the way the Force can meld with a mind like that.

The clones would likely not agree.

In some ways, Obi-Wan wouldn't either. Once, these men were his allies. Even now, while they obey Dooku's orders completely, they still regard Obi-Wan with respect. He is still addressed as "general," and they are never anything less than respectful to him. It's an odd sort of dichotomy, this mingled respect and betrayal. If someone had asked him two months ago if those two could exist together, he would have told them no, but time spent watching the clones—time from which his perspective has shifted from general to prisoner—has shown him that where the clones' loyalties are isn't necessarily with the man they respect the most. They are simply programmed to take orders from the highest chain of command. That's how it is. There's nothing personal about it.

Yet, Obi-Wan is human, and he feels the sting of betrayal as keenly as anyone. He saved the lives of many of these men, only to find that they would sacrifice his with no second thought if the order came. Genetic programming or not, that's a cold betrayal.

He can't entirely forgive that.

"You were never here," they tell him, nodding.

"You want to go get some dinner."

"We want to go get some dinner."

Perfect. Without backwards glance, Obi-Wan takes off down the hallway toward the military center.

It sickens him to think that the Temple is military headquarters now. It wasn't like that during the war, not in the same way. It was still the Jedi's then. Yes, they planned for the war, and, yes, they fought in it, but the non-force-sensitive's were housed elsewhere. The clones weren't housed in old Jedi quarters. There weren't crates and crates of blasters in storage. It wasn't like this. It still shouldn't be.

Sometimes, he thinks the military perpetuates coldness. Everything about it is sharp, sleek, and disciplined. The colors are cold, and everything is about precision and exactness. There's no trace of the Jedi left in this wing anymore. Now, it's infused with military ice and a general feeling that failure is met with the harshest of punishments.

That, he supposes, is martial law, whether Dooku has _officially_ declared it or not.

He slows to a walk as he feels Force-signatures approaching. He'll look the part, he knows. Meticulous uniform, straight back, sharp walk—he can play this. He was a general. He knows war.

But he also knows the beauty of the Force.

He knows more than military discipline, and maybe these men do too, at least outside of this setting. They must. Even the clones did. Didn't they? Perhaps that's why Obi-Wan is inclined to think of the military as so cold. The idea of men who will follow an order unquestioningly, even to the point of killing men who saved their lives many times over—he can't imagine anything colder.

He tests the clearance card on the first door. The man's clearance wasn't that high: he wasn't nearly as important as he'd like to think, but he should have enough clout to be able to call for ships. Not imperial star cruisers—he wasn't anywhere near that high in the system—but Obi-Wan can get what he needs. Just a reliable ship, something fast—something that will get Anakin out of this place.

Traffic increases as Obi-Wan heads to arrange a flight, but no one gives him a second glance. To the common eye, he is one of them, dressed like them, walking like them, and doing his duty. No one considers that he might be more.

Obi-Wan gives them no reason to.

It's not as though he's a stranger to doing his duty. He knows what it looks and feels like, down to the core of his being.

The difference is that, for the time being, he does not show that he's also learned when assigned duty is overridden by a moral duty; by a duty to those he loves; and by a duty to do what is _right_, regardless of whether a superior authorized it.

That is the difference between him and a clone.

He can still think for himself.


	27. Chapter 26

**Disclaimer: **I own nothing.

**Feedback**: If you'd be so kind as to leave some, I'll do my best to reply.

**Notes:** ROTS AU.

yellow 14: I have to say that one reason I do love the prequels is that we get to see some similarities between Luke, Leia, and their parents.

xfighter4: Thanks!

imagination theater: Oh, Obi-Wan's plan will work, much to Anakin's chagrin.

Zoraa: I don't know—the Jedi were speed pretty thin, and in the actual ROTS, the Jedi were overwhelmed by sheer numbers. Anakin didn't kill every single Jedi Master—some, I'm assuming, died by the clones. I also haven't read any of the Republic Commando novels. Are they any good?

AndrossKenobi: Ah, well, it's not going to go fantastically wrong, but Anakin still might define it that way.

charliebrown1234 : Thank you so much! :) And, yes, it's a wonder Anakin doesn't see it, isn't it? But, then, he does have a habit of blindly trusting those he feels have earned it. Look at what happened with Palpatine.

XxRandom NemesisxX: I imagine Christian from Moulin Rouge. :)

Tosharino: Yes, the alliance will quite literally drag him away, kicking and screaming (okay, just screaming). And yes—Cody and Rex! I was so sad after ROTS, because I thought those two were pretty much awesome, and then BAM, hey, Cody decides to shoot Obi-Wan off a cliff, and Rex goes along with everything. :(

Mreeb: Yeah, I was pretty happy about that image, too. :) And, yes, Anakin is going to be really angry.

Pronker:Oh, yes, Anakin won't be happy. Obi-Wan will have to deal with a very irritated ex-padawan.

anakinpadmekenobi: It's tons of fun to write someone with such dry humor when they're in very bad situations. In regards to what Obi-Wan will do once Anakin is gone—well, he hasn't really thought that far yet. He just wants to make sure Anakin is safe.

Donahermurphy: I'm so glad someone caught that reference! And, yes, Obi-Wan accommodations are going to go downhill quickly.

not paranoid enough: No, that makes perfect sense. But, believe me, Anakin will soon find himself in some situations that will test whether or not he's still willing to follow the dark to save the people he loves.

Booknerd101: Haha, I know—sorry about the beard. A necessary sacrifice. About the twins: I'm not entirely sure. I'm writing the ending now, and I'm trying to decide whether to include them or not. Any suggestions in that regard?

* * *

Dooku does not tolerate failure—not from himself, and certainly not from those in his employ.

What he is doing is too important for failure… and the clones have failed him. To what degree remains to be seen, but the fact of the matter is, _Kenobi is not where he is supposed to be_. That is, the clones have not delivered him to dinner as Dooku specified, and that is simply unacceptable.

If he knew where they were, Dooku would surely impress upon them the importance of following his orders. A lightsaber through their hearts would likely make the point quite nicely.

In reference to making points, he would dearly love to make one by wiping the infuriatingly innocent smirk off Skywalker's face.

"He's sick," Skywalker says, answering Dooku's question regarding Obi-Wan's absence.

"I wish to speak with him."

"I'm sorry, maybe I wasn't clear: he's _sick_."

"I'll risk the chance of contagious diseases," he replies dryly.

Skywalker still doesn't move. He remains planted in the entrance to the hallway, leaning casually against one wall. The tenseness of his muscles gives him away: there's nothing casual about the stance. He'll spring forward the moment Dooku tries to pass him.

Skywalker may think he's good at concealing his intentions, Dooku muses, and to some degree, he is. That handsome face can hide a multitude of sins from the world, from Kenobi, and possibly even from himself. He's got a quick smile, an athlete's body, and sharp eyes that hint at intelligence. By all appearances, he could be a model Jedi.

Unfortunately, what he can't hide is most important of all.

Skywalker has a brand of unchecked energy that radiates in every word, every look, every _movement_. He can't hide it, not properly. It's nothing that's visible in the Force, but it's simply _about _him—it can't be suppressed. And though that energy may not radiate in the Force, Skywalker himself _does_. Like a mountain rising up in the midst of miles upon miles of flat earth, he can't be missed.

Dooku must admit, though he may dislike Skywalker a great deal, he _is_ fascinating to a certain degree.

Skywalker smiles thinly. "I'm sure Master Kenobi would feel very badly if he gave you something that your aging immune system couldn't handle."

Has anyone ever smacked some sense into this child? A mouth like that shouldn't be tolerated. Pity he can never picture Kenobi striking a blow to his padawan, no matter how much this child undoubtedly must have deserved it.

"Mind your manners, boy," he tells him coolly, moving to stride past Skywalker.

As anticipated, Skywalker slides forward at the last moment, blocking Dooku's path. "I respect those worthy of my respect."

"In your mind, I suspect that's a disappointingly short list."

Though Dooku was not intending to be amusing, Skywalker seems entertained. "You know," he says slowly, as though he's mulling over the comment in his head, _really_ considering it. Such a laughable act. Dooku is sure he isn't capable of such a feat. "I have a hard time believing you trained Qui-Gon Jinn."

That's a clever misdirection, and while he's aware of the play, Dooku is interested enough to indulge this boy, if only for the time being. "And I have a difficult time perceiving what possessed my padawan to believe you'd ever be useful as anything more than a slave," he replies, taking a step back and griping his own elbows as he crosses his arms expectantly. He knows where to cut at Skywalker, and he expects the results to be worth musing over.

He isn't disappointed: Skywalker's eyes darken, and his lips thin into an ungenerous line. "Probably the fact that I could do things that weren't supposed to be possible for a human being."

"Yes, your capacity for pride, henceforth unknown to human kind, is quite impressive."

Oddly, Skywalker doesn't seem offended by Dooku's insult: he simply crosses his arms, which, judging from the subtle glance he gives Dooku's mirroring stance, is probably meant as a mockery. Such a juvenile action. "Obi-Wan tells me it is."

"I doubt he considers it a virtue."

"Why are you so interested in my master?"

A better question: why is he engaging in a conversation with Skywalker? He ought to simply push beyond him and deduce what ruse Kenobi is creating—because he is not ill, of that Dooku is certain—but there's something intriguing about Skywalker, as much as Dooku dislikes him. Kenobi loves this boy, and therefore there must be _something _of interest within him. Perhaps it bothers him that he cannot see what? Skywalker has raw power, yes, but that is not what would cause such loyalty, and it irks Dooku that he doesn't know what it is that would. He dislikes not knowing his enemy, because the unknown can so easily be underestimated.

"He has much potential." A simple answer. Let Skywalker take from that what he will.

"So do most Force-sensitives. You know what I think it is? I think you want a link to whatever shred of humanity you still possess. He's a link to a life you never quite had. But he won't give you what you want. Obi-Wan is too good. He won't care for someone who reeks of the dark."

"He would have cared for _you_."

Yes, that is where he can find Skywalker's weakness, every time. Such a reaction. Such a fragile little ego. "I didn't fall," he hisses.

"Oh, what you would have done to your master," Dooku continues, stepping forward, sensing that he's hit a deep wound. Skywalker takes a step back. There isn't much of a height difference between them, but it couldn't be clearer who is towering over the situation. "He would have loved you, even if you'd fallen. You would have destroyed him. All he's done for you, and you would have betrayed him. You think you are worthy of loyalty like his anymore than I would be?" His voice is quiet, lilting, but deceiving, like a snake before it strikes. "You think too highly of yourself, boy. If he found you for the first time now, do you still believe he would take the time needed to fix you? You confuse his affection for his dead master with affection for you. He did what he has done for you out of a promise to Qui-Gon Jinn. Nothing more."

Oh, that cuts in deep. It's probably an old wound that he's just reopened, but he can see the vulnerability in Skywalker's face as obviously as one of those gaudy flashing billboards in the entertainment district. Poor, insecure slave boy.

And then, just as he prepares to entirely write Skywalker off—chalk up Kenobi's love for the boy to misplaced love for Qui-Gon Jinn—the vulnerability vanishes.

And Dooku cannot understand it.

He cannot.

All that hurt is gone, and Skywalker just laughs. Like a bell sounding on a clear day, he laughs, like he's happy, and as though his world is as right as it is, in reality, wrong. There are no words at first. He just laughs.

"What?" he asks after a moment, leaning back against the wall and peering arrogantly at Dooku from under his bangs. Now, in this man that was absent moments before, Dooku can see a flash of a military commander, and for a few seconds, he wonders if he's been fooled all along. He has never spoken with Skywalker in the middle of a battle. In fact, he has never spoken with him when the boy was commanding anything. He has never seen how he conducts himself when he commands other men. This man he sees now, however: this man is of interest. This is the sort of man he would respect in battle.

This sort of man is a shade of Kenobi, but more than that, he's his compliment.

In this moment, as Skywalker stares up at him with slightly narrowed eyes, sparking with intelligence, Dooku seeing someone who leads men to battle, who holds people's lives in his hands, who knows what war is like, and who guards his partner's back. This is the Skywalker who is an equal partner with Kenobi.

And, if only for now, Dooku can see why he is. Kenobi trained this boy, and this is Kenobi'slegacy.

Just for this moment, Dooku can see why Kenobi is proud.

"What?" Skywalker says again, moving forward this time, grinning without a trace of humor. For the first time since he has met Skywalker, Dooku experiences a glimmer of respect. It vanishes quickly, but it's existence was undeniable. "You think I don't know I've made mistakes? I do. I've made a lot of them. So has Obi-Wan. And, really, that's the hole in your argument: Obi-Wan wouldn't have done extra to try to help me if I was just a promise to a dying man. Believe me, I know: because at first? I _was _just a promise to a dying man. He didn't do extra. And then he did. He's a far better man than you, you know. So was his master. I think you were just a fluke. You can't take credit for either of them, so I'd suggest you stop trying. Obi-Wan Kenobi is not a testament to your legacy. He's a testament to the fact that both he and Qui-Gon Jinn _escaped _your legacy."

That vulnerability? It was meant to manipulate—Skywalker _was_ offended and cut by his comments, but he disguised the fact that he _does _possess the self-control to deal with those emotions_._ He used what he was really feeling to his advantage. He made his ruse convincing by taking a weakness and using it as a strength. Apparently, Skywalker is a far, _far _better actor than Dooku gave him credit for. He may have an energy he can't hide, but he's learned to use it to mask other things that would give more away.

Regrettably, Dooku was fooled.

It will not happen again.

"Move, boy," he snaps, shoving Skywalker back hard. Skywalker lets him, catching himself against the wall.

"Let me save you the time," he says coldly once Dooku has passed him. "He's not in there. He's not in this apartment. I suggest you go find him. Well, actually I suggest that you go off yourself, but—"

A less refined man would curse… but Dooku is refined, even now. He is refined enough that he hones the rage he feels and pulls it inside himself, using it to sharpen his senses. Skywalker was simply stalling, covering for whatever Kenobi is orchestrating, and both will pay for that. He has had enough of Kenobi's insubordination. Perhaps a reminder that Dooku is serious will help.

Igniting his lightsaber, he slices cleanly through Skywalker's mechanical arm.

He did warn Kenobi, after all.

Gasping—pain sensors were a foolish idea—Skywalker falls back against the wall as he struggles to draw in air past the iron grip that pain has on his lungs. Surely the boy should have learned by now that keeping his mouth shut is far simpler. Dooku has certainly given him enough injuries to clearly convey that particular point.

"That's… getting redundant," Skywalker gasps, shaking, but still looking up at Dooku with remarkably clear eyes. "Leave Obi-Wan a c-calling card in-instead. Or a f-fruit basket."

Dooku kicks him, just once, for good measure. It is a more childish action than he would like, but he cannot always be in complete control of his emotions. Occasionally, even he gives way and indulges his baser emotions. If ever there was a time for that, it is now. Skywalker is simply lucky he's not indulging further and removing him of the burden of his head.

Now, to find Kenobi.

* * *

"You need to hear this."

After their _disagreement_, Padme and Bail haven't been on the best terms, but even over comlink, there's something compelling in his voice. Pushing aside the plans she'd been working on, she sighs and answers, "What have you got?"

"Your husband. Talking to Dooku."

The paperwork is forgotten. "_What?_"

"I don't know. Hurry up."

She does. She practically runs to where Bail is, ignoring every stare she gets. Let her fellow rebels think she's insane if they want. This is _Anakin_. Nothing else matters. He may be light-years away from this rebel base on Alderaan—courtesy of Bail, whose connections are very useful—but he still comes first.

"What is it?" she asks, turning the corner to his office at an unsafe speed. Bail hardly even glances up as she whips a chair out so hard that it screeches against the floor, probably leaving marks. He's too busy listening to the comlink.

In a matter of seconds, she is too.

And she doesn't stop until Dooku leaves her husband alone, lying on the floor, minus one arm… but alive, and clearly pleased with himself. A fruit basket, indeed.

"It's nice to know you married someone who, like yourself, is in possession of a sharp tongue," Bail says dryly once the dialogue stops. "A calling card? A fruit basket?"

She shrugs and wipes a hand across her brow, pushing several strands of hair away. "He'll never turn down the chance to take a stab at Dooku. But concentrate on what's important: he was running a stall for Obi-Wan. That means Obi-Wan is off doing something he doesn't want Dooku to find out about."

Bail taps a finger on his chin, thoughtful. "Not _yet_."

"What do you mean?"

"Anakin finally gave in and just flat-out told Dooku Obi-Wan wasn't there once he knew he was going to figure that out on his own anyway. That would indicate he was only trying to delay as long as possible, but once the ruse was up, that was it—he didn't keep trying to cover. That means Obi-Wan knew Dooku would figure out he was gone. That would hopefully indicate he and Anakin planned for that eventuality."

It's a very plausible theory, especially considering her husband and Obi-Wan. They would do something like that. They probably have before. "What do you think Obi-Wan is doing?"

"Hard to tell," Bail admits, looking back over at her with a soft sigh. "Something that I think he actually _wants _Dooku to try to find him at. Some part of this has to be a misdirection."

"Right." With another sigh, heavier than the first, Bail leans forward and kneads his forehead with his hands. "It's no use guessing. Until we have more information, we don't know anything more than Dooku does."

He's right. It's frustrating.

"That might not be such a bad thing, Padme," he adds. "As long as we haven't figured out what these two are trying to pull, it means Dooku probably hasn't either."

That's a fair point, and a heartening one. She'll just have to have faith that Obi-Wan and Anakin know what they're doing.

Carefully, she smoothes a hand over her stomach.

For the good of all involved, they _had better_ know what they're doing.

* * *

Obi-Wan is leaving the hangar when he gets a flair of warning from Anakin. Though, really, it's more like a flair of pain with a side of warning. Anakin is apparently hurt. Again. The one saving grace is that, if he's well enough to still communicate warning, he isn't hurt beyond what's fixable or operable.

That's such a small comfort, but at this point Obi-Wan will take it. He'll just drag Anakin to the ship if he has to.

It doesn't take him long to sneak back down the hallways to his quarters. It takes only marginally longer to set the charges that he stole. He's not particularly careful about placement—his presence is going to be discovered one way or another. Precision will waste time he doesn't have. So long as the door is blown off, he's done his job.

As soon as he activates the charges, he knows he's accomplished said job… and well.

Now, the chrono really starts ticking. That explosion wasn't quiet. This place will be swarming with stormtroopers in probably under a minute.

"Anakin?" he calls into the apartment.

"Right here."

Partially, at least. He's missing an arm… again.

Picking his way around the rubble that's what's left of their door, Anakin meets him in the hallway. It's slightly worrying how pinched and white his face is, but he's wearing a smile, and even though he's cradling the stub of his arm, he looks to be in good spirits. "I told Dooku to leave you a fruit basket next time," he says, grinning.

That doesn't even merit a sigh.

"You need to go. Now. This is the ship," he says, handing Anakin a piece of paper on which he's scrawled some information. Ship model and make, hanger number, coordinates where he'll meet Anakin over Coruscant.

Only, he won't be meeting him.

"Thanks," Anakin says, taking the paper with his remaining hand, glancing at it, and then pocketing it. "See you soon?" he asks, smiling again.

No, no he won't. He might never see Anakin again, and that thought cuts at him, but he can't let it show. Letting it show will mean that Anakin will stay—and he _has _to leave.

"Of course," he says, indulging in an affectionate swat to Anakin's back—half a push forward, half a goodbye that Anakin doesn't know about. He would like to embrace him, knowing it might be the last time he'll ever do so, but such a gesture would only make Anakin suspicious. Obi-Wan can't afford that. "Make sure you're at those coordinates."

Anakin just nods and rolls his eyes before turning toward the hallway. "I'll be there waiting when you _finally _arrive." Then, he turns and hurries off down the hallway.

Obi-Wan breathes out hard.

Has he done the right thing? He has. He knows he has. That's not the issue. He has done the right thing for _Anakin_—though Anakin probably won't agree once he's found out what Obi-Wan has done—but the prospect of never again seeing the boy he raised—it's like a cold, hard stone settling in the pit of his stomach. This is right, but it's not easy. Necessary, but heart wrenching.

And he has no time to contemplate it.

"Good reaction time," he says when Dooku turns the corner and strides toward him, lightsaber clutched tightly in his hand. It's not ignited, but Obi-Wan supposes that's just a matter of time. Behind him, four storm troopers follow, flaring out at his heels like a living cape. "That didn't take you long."

"_Where_," Dooku whispers, voice low and dangerous, "is Skywalker?"

Obi-Wan is not a man easily intimidated, but he'd be foolish not to feel a hint of fear when he's unharmed and confronted by an armed man unhinged enough by anger and frustration to possibly take advantage of Obi-Wan's weaponless state.

"By now?" Obi-Wan says casually, leaning back against the wall and ignoring that fear. "By now I'm guessing that he's probably nearly at the control room. But I may be overestimating his speed, especially considering you thought it was necessary to lop off his arm. Goodness," he adds, touching a finger to his mouth in a parody of thought, "I certainly hope he can still delete files."

"Go check," Dooku snarls at the clones. Always on his heel, those clones, following wherever Dooku goes. That must be a depressing job.

The clones hurry off, running to check a place Anakin isn't even near. Perfect. Dooku must be absolutely furious if he's failing to consider that Obi-Wan is lying. For all his endorsement of anger as a path to strength, his rage seems to fall remarkably short at the moment, serving to cloud his vision rather than give him the power he needs to find Anakin. Obi-Wan will be sure to bring that up at a later date, assuming, of course, that he still has his head.

"Those files are no good to you," Dooku snaps angrily, and before Obi-Wan has a chance to prepare, Dooku has slammed him back into the wall, hand clutching at his throat, cutting off all air. If not for the cap of a lightsaber pressed into his ribs, he might struggle but, well, breathing will be irrelevant if Dooku puts a lightsaber in his lungs. Best to prioritize. "I know the location of every base already. What Skywalker is doing is useless."

It is, he has to admit, rather disconcerting to know that one movement could end his life. One of these days, Dooku's anger is going to get the best of him, and he'll just finish what he's always physically promising. Obi-Wan does hope that it will be quick.

Dooku's hand flexes slightly, then eases up. He doesn't let go—he keeps Obi-Wan pinned against the wall—but it's clear that he wants a response.

"You misunderstand," he chokes out. "He's not deleting the information I gave you access to—he's deleting the things you haven't yet discovered."

If possible, Dooku's face reddens more. There's a vein throbbing in is temple. Pulse, pulse, pulse. With any luck, it will burst. Wouldn't that be nice?

"Why didn't _you_ go to delete the information? Why wait here? Why not accompany the pathetic excuse for a Jedi that you trained?"

If he could, Obi-Wan would cross his arms and sigh theatrically. It's possible that such dramatics are a trait he's acquired from Anakin. In situations like these, however, the flair for drama can be quite satisfying. "That 'pathetic excuse for a Jedi'—who, at the moment, is getting the best of you—has a better chance of escaping alone. We both know it. If you're here with _me_, you're not looking for _him_, and I like his chances against the clones."

"He won't get off the planet."

"Not without help."

"He won't have time to contact anyone."

"Coruscant is a big planet," Obi-Wan reminds him, trying to ignore the fact that Dooku is well within his personal space. He's never much liked people up close to him. Anakin had been an exception, and who can blame Obi-Wan for that? After rocking a sick child to sleep after said child had vomited all over the bathroom—everywhere but where he should have, it had seemed—he'd given up on personal boundaries. Anakin had never been much inclined to accept his limits anyhow: he'd been a tactile child, always wanting the physical reassurance of affection that his mother had given him. Obi-Wan had never learned to be as freely giving with his affection as Shmi had, but he'd done his best, and Anakin had certainly gotten more from him than anyone else ever had. "It will take time to find him, especially if the ship he's on isn't traceable."

"Skywalker couldn't acquire a ship of that nature. That takes clearance. The tracking devices would have to be disabled ahead of time. Remarkable though he is with mechanics—a lasting blessing of the slavery he should have remained in—even he will be incapable of rewiring a ship that quickly. That's simply impossible."

"I'll agree that he can't rewire a ship that quickly… but he won't need to. The ship is ready and waiting." In a private, non-main hanger that Dooku won't think to check. Why? Because it was known only to Jedi Council members, and, well, Anakin, since Obi-Wan had used it a few times when Anakin was with him. It took Obi-Wan a lot of posturing to make the workers he arranged the flight with feel incompetent. After all, _everyone _knew about that hanger, expect, apparently, _them_. It was a lie, of course, but after he'd finished speaking, he was confident that they were suitably embarrassed enough by their perceived incompetence that they wouldn't be mentioning the hangar or the flight to anyone else. After all, they weren't going to disobey someone who had the _clearance _to give them those orders.

He doesn't have time to think of much else, because as he watches, Dooku's face slackens and his eyes brighten in understanding. The knowledge pushes out his anger enough for him to truly take in Obi-Wan's appearance. New haircut. No beard. Military uniform. That's enough—Dooku is an intelligent man. Clues like that are all he needs when he really takes the time to stop and _look_.

"Whose card did you steal and when did you do it?"

"I don't know what you're talking about," Obi-Wan replies pleasantly.

The sharp tightening of Dooku's hand isn't nearly so pleasant. Apparently, Dooku's patience has run out.

Obi-Wan chokes and reaches up to grab at Dooku's hands, but Dooku presses his lightsaber harder into Obi-Wan's ribs in a clear warning.

A sharp knee to his groin sends him slamming to the floor. Gasping for air, he curls into a fetal position. Protect your inner organs. Always protect those and your head first. He remembers, after all the training and practice and sparring with Anakin and other Jedi. Right, just keep thinking about that. Anything but the pain.

"You can torture me," he whispers once he's gotten his breath back. Defiantly, he glares up at Dooku, who still holds his lightsaber tightly, as though he's going to ignite it at any moment… but he doesn't. Not yet. "You can, but by the time I break, Anakin will be long, _long _gone. _Years_ gone, probably."

"You have given up everything for this boy!" Dooku tells him with disgust, spitting the words out so venomously that several flecks of spittle fly with them. He looks absolutely revolted, and there's even a slight tremor in the muscles of his cheeks. He's losing. He knows he's losing. "And he left you. How does that feel?"

"Good," he whispers, smiling, even when Dooku kicks him again, this time in the head. "Because he doesn't know that he is. But he _is_. And he'll be safe. Time to send in someone to rescue him now, if you please," he says, not for Dooku, but for the rebels who are sure to be listening, and isn't it convenient that since he's lying on the floor, he's closer to the plant on Dooku's shoe? And that last kick to the head? It makes it acceptable for him to babble mindlessly. "Tell him I said hello, please, Senator, and that I love him. Tell him not to worry about me. Oh, and the tracking number for his ship—it's the same number as the coordinates where we last met." That terrible, terrible mission to Utapau. "Pick him up, please. Don't take no for an answer. I'd suggest a tractor beam, if you have it."

A harsh hand grabs his shoulder and flips him over, slamming him down on his back. He's still in possession of his senses, but it's true that his vision is beginning to blur. "Start talking, Kenobi," Dooku seethes. There's red and yellow seeping into his eyes. No love for a former padawan there. Not right now. Right now, Obi-Wan is just a prisoner with answers. Will Dooku even regret this later? Probably, but that won't help Obi-Wan keep all his internal organs intact in this moment.

"I thought I was," he replies blurrily, slurring just enough to make himself sound incompetent. He is playing at that, right? That's not… hmm, he's losing his train of thought. That last blow to his head must have been harder than he thought.

He gets clarity back in a flash of blinding pain, just for a moment, when Dooku slams his heal down on Obi-Wan's hand, grinding. He can feel bones breaking, and he gasps, trying to pull away, but the pressure only increases, and he's caught with another kick to his back.

"I don't have time for this," Dooku snarls, and then the pressure is gone. Instead, there's a hand riffling through his clothing, tearing apart his pockets until Dooku finds what he's looking for. A clearance card.

It's a little late now. Dooku won't be able to do much with it.

"You took it from the man you were speaking with that night, didn't you? That night after you made a speech?"

Dooku grabs his chin hard and forces eye contact. Obi-Wan gives it to him, because what does he really have to lose? Let Dooku see what he wants. "You told me to socialize. I made the most of the experience," he mutters.

Dooku shouldn't be smiling about that, should he? He is, though, nasty and angry, but a shade impressed. "By the Force, Kenobi, you're _good_," he tells him, almost laughing.

"Yes, well, I try." His vision is clearing now, at least marginally. Not enough that he feels good, but the danger of fainting is subsiding. Thank the Force for small miracles.

Shaking his head, Dooku lets go of his face, more gently this time. His anger is fading, and the yellow and red run from his eyes, like the colors on a paper when it's gotten wet. Anakin used to color sometimes when he was younger. Obi-Wan likely still has a few of those drawings in his desk somewhere back in his quarters. Perhaps he'll look at them later, if Dooku allows him to return there. "You haven't won yet," Dooku tells him. "Not yet."

"You won't catch Anakin."

"Even if I don't, I still have _you. _You don't think he'll come running back to save you?"

"I expect that there will be those who will stop him from doing so." Padme had better do exactly that. He's not worth Anakin giving up a life with his family. His former padawan can be safe and happy, and that's what Obi-Wan wants for him. His own life will be a forfeit for that if need be. It's not ideal, but Obi-Wan won't ever regret it. Anakin is worth it.

"Get up."

Right, because it's that simple, yes? It's not as though Dooku has just kicked him in the head and likely broken the bones of his hand. Still, it's possible, and Obi-Wan is a Jedi: pain can be handled and channeled and even possibly ignored if need be.

He gets up.

"Move."

He does that, too. He follows Dooku down a hall to a turbolift, then stands silently as it descends. He doesn't need to ask where they're going: he's lived in the Jedi Temple for most of his life, and he knows the layout of the building. Down where they're going he's fairly certain there's nothing but cells.

As it turns out, he's correct.

How unfortunate.

"Try to stay out of trouble this time," Dooku tells him as he ushers him inside the cell with a sweep of his arm before he activates the plasma energy field. "If you can't stay put, the next logical step would be removing your legs altogether."

"If you kill me, I won't be moving either," he points out helpfully, though it's rather difficult when he's got his teeth gritted as tightly as he can. His hand—it's really very painful, and he can only stave off that sensation for so long. He's a Jedi—not inhuman.

"An admirable try, but we both know I don't desire to end your life, even if it would be a very convenient way for you to insure you'll never divulge anything that you are trying to hide."

Well, there is that, but far more importantly, if he's dead, Anakin won't try to come back for him. Dooku will likely realize that eventually, too.

Laying down on the hard slab of duracrete that passes for a bunk, Obi-Wan turns on his side and does his best to ignore Dooku until he hears the sounds of his retreating footsteps. Oddly, once he's gone and the sounds of the turbolift fade, he finds himself nearly wishing he'd come back.

Nearly. He doesn't want to see Dooku again, but the silence is maddening. There's no one here but him, and the lack on noise is smothering. Then there's the matter of the new bruises and broken bones. He'll need some medical care for those. Hopefully, Dooku will send some shortly.

Though, if he's too preoccupied trying to find Anakin, Obi-Wan doubts he'll think of it. That's all right. So long as Anakin is safe, Obi-Wan will do what he needs to.

_Please, Anakin, for once in your life, just do what you're told._


	28. Chapter 27

**Disclaimer: **I own nothing.

**Feedback**: If you'd be so kind as to leave some, I'll do my best to reply.

**Notes:** ROTS AU.

Torli: Oh, yeah, they'll need to use the tractor beam. And, yes, I'd love to see that—expect a PM.

Mirror and Image: Oh, yes, Dooku and Anakin will meet again. Just because this is an AU doesn't mean Anakin isn't the Chosen One, meant to bring balance to the Force and all that. :) Haha, and YES, I am quite certain Anakin threw better tantrums. What a fantastic image: as Dooku is beating him up, Obi-Wan is picturing Anakin pitching a fit and deciding that Dooku has nothing on his former teenage padawan. Very nice. I'm also really glad you noted that Dooku beating Obi-Wan up wasn't really a victory for him at all—yeah, Obi-Wan got the crap kicked out of him, but he really actually won. And the thing about the bug? Uh, he's going to realize that, like, uh, now. And, yes, Anakin will throw a fit when he realizes what's happened.

Evarne: If English isn't your first language, I have to say that I think you have quite a good grasp on it. I'm always impressed by people who can not only read a story in another language, but who can also comment on it. I can't imagine ever being able to do that. Anyhow, in the Prologue I do talk a little bit about how Sidious left Dooku with clearance. In other words, Dooku had enough information to be able to access things that only the Supreme Chancellor should have been able to view. These things included information (I assumed it would be clearance codes, since the verification for whether or not someone could give Order 66 couldn't be based on sight alone—Sidious gave the order for Order 66 with his face obscured by his hood, and I doubt the clones would trust a mere image anyway) that allowed him to verify he was of high enough standing to have the authority to issue that order. He didn't use a holoimage anyway—only verbal communication—so the clones might not have even known it Dooku as opposed to Sidious. In regards to the Senate, it would also be easy for Dooku to circumvent them, given that there was apparently no failsafe that stopped the Supreme Chancellor (or, in the case of Dooku, who had seized power and inserted himself into that position) from controlling the clones. So, Dooku has control of a clone army—the Senate basically gives in or faces annihilation. Given that the Jedi are gone and the Senate has now recognized his authority, there's no one left to question him. Lastly, in regards to Anakin: oh, he's not stupid. Not at all. Dooku will figure that out eventually, and I promise there's a very good reason why he refuses to recognize Anakin's intelligence. Dooku certainly isn't invincible, though: later chapters will prove that. He's just basically got all the odds in his favor at the moment, but once that changes, everything else will to. Anyway, thank you so much for taking the time to read closely enough to ask these questions. I'm always very flattered when someone does that.

yellow 14: Yes, that would be a drawback. I don't think Dooku much cares about reforming them, though—he just wants to take out his frustration.

xfighter4: Thanks!

ResistanceIsNotFutile: He learned his irreverent sense of humor from Obi-Wan. :)

imagination theater: Oh, Obi-Wan's plan will work, much to Anakin's chagrin.

Zoraa: Hmm, that actually sounds really interesting. Sometime when I'm not swamped with college work I'll have to check that out. Thanks for letting me know they're worth reading.

delightfully-so : Thanks! And I hope Anakin's reaction doesn't disappoint.

The Sharp Machete: That was one of my favorite bits as well. :)

Skedaddle-San: It was sad to write them parting, but I also get to write the reunion, so that makes it all better.

Tosharino: Oh, Anakin, at least once he finds out what's happened, won't leave Obi-Wan where he is.

whimperling: I figure that, on some level, Obi-Wan really doesn't expect to ever see Anakin again, and since he's finally figured out that Anakin doesn't just _get _that he cares about him but instead actually needs to be told, he's sort of figured letting him know that is more important than his pride and hang-ups about emotion. Oh, and Obi-Wan would like babysitting. He would. He just denies it. ;) And, no, I won't kill him.

RoMythe: As of a couple chapters ago, she was four months, so just a bit over that now.

Pronker:Yes, deep down, Dooku harbors as much potential for violence as, say, Darth Maul. He just doesn't like to admit it to himself.

anakinpadmekenobi: There is a reason Dooku engages with Anakin: Dooku just won't realize it until the end. And, yes, it is mean that Dooku always chops off limbs, isn't it? But, yes, Obi-Wan is funny when he's loopy. I didn't really stop to consider what Dooku would think. Interesting concept. I didn't intend for the cell to be Force-represent either—it's just the lake of human contact that's eating at him. Plus, as is going to become clear a little later, he's having some problems with the Force.

Geemen: Thanks! And Padme understands Obi-Wan's point of view, probably better than Anakin. Actually, she tries to explain it to Anakin in this chapter here.

Rosabell: You're right about Padme, at least in a manner of speaking.

Booknerd101: Oh, of course Obi-Wan will get forced to babysit. It's inevitable.

Ethos: Don't forget, Anakin will have to contend with Padme before he launches an insane rescue attempt.

* * *

So I'd just like to thank everyone for the amazing number of reviews I got for the last chapter! As someone who has no actual career in writing, it's incredibly wonderderful to know that people care enough for your stories to take the time to comment. THANK YOU.

Also, I've got another video up on YouTube. This one is an Obi-Wan video called, "Calling Me Up-Obi-Wan". Please check it out if you have the time.

* * *

"Get a ship in there," Padme orders, pushing herself up out of her chair in a flurry of motion. Within her body, every nerve feels alive, and she's more awake than she's been in weeks. Everyone—herself included—has exploded into motion. "Now."

Everyone is already moving. Captain Typho is shouting orders, people are scurrying to follow them, and Bail is calling for ships.

They don't have many cruisers. What they do have mainly comes from Bail. It will be enough, though, at least for this. Obi-Wan was pretty clear in what he wanted: get to Anakin before Dooku does, and make sure Anakin comes with you.

"Something with a tractor beam," she amends. "Now!"

_Anakin. Please, Anakin, be all right._

_

* * *

_

The ship blasts out of the hangar without a problem, reminding Anakin of why he has always loved flying. When he was young, podracing had been his escape from a life he hadn't wanted to live. It had been the only real freedom he'd known. The speed, the feeling that he was going too fast to even catch his thoughts—it was a rush no one else had ever been able to understand, and there was a release in that. He'd never felt more alive than when he had known he could die flying. He almost hopes that's the way he goes… but not yet.

Slashing through the atmosphere of Coruscant, he stops the ship at the coordinates Obi-Wan gave him. Now, the part he hates the most: waiting. This would have been at least at a little easier if Obi-Wan had told him exactly what he's planning to do. Instead, Anakin is stuck sitting here waiting for… something.

When he gets his something, it's nothing like he expected.

Instead of a message from Obi-Wan or, better yet, Obi-Wan in person, he gets a tractor beam locking on to his ship.

Then, he does get a transmission… but not from Obi-Wan.

"Anakin!"

He hasn't heard her voice in months. He's spent weeks and weeks in the Outer Rim, then more weeks as Dooku's prisoner, all without seeing her. Padme. His wife.

His fingers can't return the signal fast enough. They scramble over the buttons and keys until he finally finds the right one. "Padme?"

"Anakin, listen to me—"

"Padme, are you all right? Padme—"

"Don't fight the tractor beam, all right?"

What? How—how does she know about the tractor beam? She's with the rebellion. Obi-Wan said so. The tractor beam should be from one of Dooku's ships. The rebellion wouldn't do that to him—they shouldn't even know he's here.

"Padme, what—is the tractor beam _yours_?"

"You have to understand, Anakin," she tells him, almost pleading. The anxiety there—he hates it, but he knows why it's there: she's worried he's going to do something entirely stupid… and she may be right. "Obi-Wan isn't coming. He was never going to. He—he gave himself up to Dooku in order to get you the cover you needed to get off Coruscant."

It's what Anakin would have done for Obi-Wan. Everything about it makes perfect sense, but while he hears Padme's words, he doesn't really _hear _them. Everything tunnels in, and all he's seeing are the controls in front of him and his hands on those controls.

He's got to go back.

Now.

"Take the tractor beam off. I'm going back for him."

"Ani, you can't. We'll find a way to get Obi-Wan out, I promise, but right now—"

"Take it off, Padme!" he snaps, already planning what he'll do if she doesn't. Maybe if he reverses all power to the back thrusters, it will be enough. He'd have a chance. A chance is enough to give him reason to try.

"No. It's not what Obi-Wan wants, it's not what I want, and it's not what's best for you either," she replies, every bit as heatedly as him.

"Take the tractor beam off my ship, or I'm going to reverse the thrusters and—"

"You'll tear the ship apart, Anakin!" she shouts. "Don't be foolish!"

"Don't you understand?" Months away from his wife, and this is what their first conversation is like. Nothing is fair right now. Someday, he's going to kill Dooku for this. For _all _of this. "He'll hurt Obi-Wan. You don't know what Dooku does, Padme, you don't know—"

"Anakin, if you try to break out of the tractor beam's hold, you'll break your ship to pieces. You'll die. And what will happen to Obi-Wan then? If you want to blame me for this, you do that. But I'm not letting you go back there. I love you too much to let you. I need you. The baby needs you. We'll get Obi-Wan back. I promise. But we can't do it right now."

He'd like to swear. He would, but nothing seems foul enough to describe how he's feeling. Instead, he leans forward and rests his head on the control panel, letting cool metal and the jagged edges of the buttons and switches bite into his skin. He aches so much. Not physically, but this is much worse. "I don't blame you," he whispers finally. "I blame Dooku."

He could never blame her. This isn't her fault. Obi-Wan once told him to lay blame where blame belongs.

So, he'll do that: by everything he holds dear, he's going to make Dooku pay for this.

"Take me in," he whispers after a few moments. Breathing deeply, he stands up and leans his head back, staring at the ceiling. It's blank and white and he hardly registers it at all. "I need to start planning."

* * *

"I told you that you wouldn't catch him. I planned this out well."

Three hours after he last spoke to Obi-Wan Kenobi, Dooku now realizes just how true that is. By the time that they'd realized what had happened, Skywalker was long gone. Dooku's men had, of course, eventually discerned when he'd left, where he'd left from, and the fact that he'd had help—they'd simply realized these things far too late.

Interestingly enough, those men are no longer in Dooku's employ. They won't be in _anyone's _employ ever again.

No one hires the dead.

"He will return."

Skywalker would probably come running back right now if he could see his master. So clever of Kenobi to arrange things so that he couldn't.

Yes, Kenobi, who is still lying in his cell where Dooku last saw him.

There's an odd twitch in Kenobi's expression. He appears to disagree with Dooku's assumption, but no matter how much he mulls it over, Dooku cannot fathom why. Skywalker will always return for his master. Kenobi may be humble, but he is not blind—he must know that.

Exhaling heavily, Kenobi leans his head back down against the top of the bench on which he's lying. He's clutching the wrist of his right hand, trying to minimize the amount of movement. In retrospect, it was either a very good or terribly bad decision to crush Kenobi's saber hand—good if he doesn't want him fighting, but in some odd way, Dooku still wants this man whole. "Even if you believe that, you have no means of telling when."

But he does. In this, at least, he is confident. "I do believe that a public execution would bring him running."

Kenobi's eyes snap open. Yes, the promise of death will do that to a man. Kenobi needn't worry—the promise isn't for him. Though, perhaps he does need to worry for Skywalker.

"Public? Is that really necessary? I'm not that terribly important."

Dooku snorts lightly. Charming to the last, this man—or what Kenobi believes might be his last. "I do not intend to execute you. That would be messy and unnecessary."

A few moments is all Kenobi needs to realize exactly what that means. Just a look at Dooku's face and a few words. That's all. "You want to draw him out with a false execution." A pause and then, very slowly, Kenobi smiles.

Dooku is tempted to smile back. And why not? It's been a horrid day, and this is the first thing he's had to truly smile about in hours. Yes, there's no harm in indulging just a bit. He lets himself do it. "I wouldn't smile, Master Kenobi."

"Consider it a death wish," Kenobi says with a shrug.

"Or, perhaps I should simply consider it a product of your assurance that the rebellion and, by extension, Skywalker, will be informed that your execution is, in fact, a farce."

Kenobi shifts, sitting up for the first time. Yes, Dooku has his attention now. Very good.

"Truly, it was an enlightening realization," Dooku beings slowly, tucking his hands imperiously behind his back and striding back and forth between the walls of the cell. Truly deplorable accommodations, these cells—there's hardly even enough room to pace. "At the point which I realized Skywalker had received help to flee Coruscant, I also realized that help must have been nearby waiting. Interesting, isn't it?"

"Coruscant isn't exactly secret," Kenobi points out, though the worry in his eyes doesn't fade. Everything else about his face remains blank, but that—he simply cannot hide that.

"No, I'll concede in that respect," he admits, stopping before Kenobi and leaning forward until scarcely a foot separates their faces. He wants to see this man's emotion up close, because his worry is nearly intoxicating. Dooku wants to best him, so very badly. He is a worthy opponent, and Dooku will not kill him—not when he is oddly fond of him—but he can't deny his desire to see Kenobi beaten. Besting a man like this—it is a worthy endeavor, and to hold his life in his hands… well, Obi-Wan Kenobi's life is a prize enough for him. Not every man can boast to that. "However, we are both aware that was not what insured Skywalker's exit. I considered all options, Kenobi, and I came to a realization: I was far too lenient with what I allowed you to do on your excursions from the Temple."

"Yes, as those excursions were _such _fun for me," Kenobi drawls, rolling his eyes.

He chooses to ignore the sarcasm. There's no need to respond: not when he's about to silence Kenobi in other ways. "You had a contact. Of this I am sure. Dare I hope you'll tell me who it is?"

Obi-Wan does not reply. He only stares, as though he thinks Dooku a complete fool. Fair enough. Dooku would likely think the same if Kenobi asked _him_ to willingly expose a contact.

"No? I thought not. I don't suppose it's truly that relevant. You traveled to no places other than the ones which you were assigned. Your ship's logs would have revealed that. Neither was there enough time between landings and take-offs for you to have left a planet. Whoever it was, they came to you—you went to no planets beyond those to which I sent you."

"Therefore, in your mind, you have established that I have a contact. Your theory is what, then? That I told them where Anakin would be and when? I'm flattered by the credit you give me, Dooku," he lies dryly, "but for me to plan this to the day and hour—that's quite a feat, considering I had to steal a security card at a function I wasn't aware I was going to until _after _I returned from Utapau."

If that were truly Dooku's theory, he has to admit, Kenobi has just torn it apart quite spectacularly. However, knowing what Dooku knows, Kenobi has just hung himself with the threads of the own lie that he wove. How convenient—it makes Dooku's task so much easier.

"Precisely. Somehow, you _transmitted_ knowledge that you learned while you had no contact beyond those in this Temple."

Yes. And so, for the Jedi before him, things fall apart.

Kenobi knows. He sees that Dooku knows. The subtle emphasis on the right words—the smug smile he can feel on his own lips. Kenobi knows, and the fear in his eyes is delicious.

"The way in which you did it originally escaped me," he says quietly, leaning forward a few inches more. Kenobi holds his position, eyes narrowed. His injured arm is shaking. "But I came to the realization that there were two possibilities: either someone you had daily contact with was disloyal or… well, allow us to discuss that option first.

"Your daily contact consisted of droids and Skywalker. I am already aware Skywalker would do just about anything for the opportunity to orchestrate my downfall. I must admit that I did consider the droids. However, when examined, they revealed no tampering."

"You have a theory. Get to it," Kenobi snaps.

"Not a theory. Theories are unproven, and this, Master Kenobi, is fact, I assure you."

Oh, how he enjoys the triumph of reaching into his pocket and slowly withdrawing the listening device that had been planted on his boot. So clever. He still does not know how they managed it, and he does not expect Kenobi to tell him. Still, it will be enough that he found it at all.

"Yours, I believe?"

Kenobi just shrugs, but he has paled even more than he already had from the pain in his hand. "Anakin's, actually. I'm not that talented."

"I would wager you're the one who planted it." He's offering Kenobi the credit. With most men, it's a good strategy: it plays on a man's pride and on his desire to take credit for his accomplishments.

How unfortunate that Kenobi doesn't seem to often feel that desire.

He doesn't seem inclined to change that inclination today. "Don't fish for information. I won't tell you anything."

"Yes, a pity."

"How did you find it?"

Now, finally, he leans back away from Kenobi, who relaxes minimally when he does. "Who else could possibly be transmitting information? I was the only other viable option. And so, while I considered that possibility unlikely at first, I explored it. Imagine my surprise when I found results."

Kenobi scowls and looks away. "I can't begin to."

No, of course not. He wouldn't want to. Dooku will revel in it, however, and as he rises to leave the room, he lets himself enjoy his victory—not that he is done just yet.

"Also," he adds, pausing at the door. Kenobi still isn't looking at him, but he suspects that will change, "in the event that you're thinking of it—and you're forgiven if you're not, as you've just had quite a lot to take in—this device was powered down for our most recent conversation. I'm afraid Skywalker will have no notice that your execution is, in fact, a complete ruse. And while _your _execution will be a ruse, one _will_ take place. I'll leave you to guess at who will be standing in for you."

Kenobi snaps his head up so fast that Dooku suspects he might give himself whiplash. How lovely. They'll simply add it to his list of injuries.

"Do have a pleasant night, Master Kenobi," he tells him with a smile as he turns to leave. "Droids will be along shortly to care for your hand."

Once out of the detention area, he pauses, just briefly, to toss the powered down listening device on the ground.

He crushes it with the heal of his boot.

_Show me how unstoppable you are _now_, Skywalker._

_

* * *

_

When Anakin exits his ship to find his wife waiting for him, his first thought is that Padme doesn't look as pregnant as he had imagined. It's a stupid thought, and he's not sure why he's thinking it, but nothing feels very linear in his mind right now. Everything is scattered.

Like Padme has always done, he hopes she can put everything back together.

It's complete instinct to tangle his remaining hand in her hair, breathing in her scent. She's soft and warm against him, and it suddenly strikes him again that he hasn't seen her in _months_. It's been a long time since he's held his wife.

"I've missed you so much," he whispers, burying his face in her hair.

Every day he's been gone, he's missed her. She is his strength in a way he could never explain, because words don't do it justice. He doesn't need to explain, though—he never needed to explain to Padme. She always just knew: what he wanted, what he needed—she always knows.

"You're back now," she whispers, her thin arms winding up around his shoulders. She feels so tiny in his arms, but not fragile—never fragile. His wife is one of the strongest people he knows, and he loves her for that. He needs her strength now. "Ani, I was so worried, so afraid you wouldn't—"

"I did," he cuts her off. "I did, and that's all that matters."

"Yes, I guess it is."

But, obviously, she doesn't believe that. He can see the doubt on her face, and he doesn't blame her. Neither of them is going to forget the sleepless nights of worry—the fear that they might never see each other again. Then there's the matter of a child. He can't pretend to know what a mother feels, but he suspects there's probably something terribly shaking about considering the possibility that the baby inside you may never know it's father.

He never wanted to leave her to suffer all that. He never did.

And he's back now. He can make it right.

There are people looking at them. It's not as though this ship is private. From what Anakin can guess, he's probably getting his first glance at members of the fledgling rebellion. Just fantastic. He has these people to thank for forcing him to leave Obi-Wan behind.

He also, he can't help but realize, has them to thank for his reunion with his wife.

Padme's gentle hand on the side of his face, sweeping his curls back, distracts him from the eyes that are politely not watching—busying themselves securing his ship, prepping fighters _just in case_, twiddling their thumbs if that's what it takes not to look—and he turns his attention back to her.

"Did he hurt you? Beyond your hand, I mean," she asks quietly.

She knows the answer: he can see it in her face. She's not asking if Dooku hurt him—she's asking how badly. "My shoulder is still a bit sore, but it's nothing compared to what it could have been, Padme, really. Obi-Wan—Obi-Wan did a pretty good job."

He's only alive because of Obi-Wan. There's no point in denying that. Dooku never wanted him at all. If it had only been him—if Obi-Wan hadn't been there—Dooku would have killed him without a second thought.

He can't imagine. He just can't. How can a person be like that? How can they not consider all the people they'll be harming? Not just the people they'll be killing, either. What about every single parent who gave their child to be a Jedi? How must they have felt when the news came that the Jedi were dead? They may have given their children up, but they were still parents. His mother, had she been alive—he can hardly think about what the news that he was dead would have done to her.

And Obi-Wan—Obi-Wan still has family. What if he has a mother like Anakin's, who gave up her son so he could have a better life? How has Dooku never considered things like that? How does he just not consider _any of it_?

"What Dooku made him do, Ani—" Padme pauses then, taking his arm and tugging. It's not an invitation, but more a declaration of common sense: don't talk about what Obi-Wan did in a place where anyone could overhear.

And, really, that makes sense, because now that Anakin thinks about it, he realizes that what Obi-Wan did would be considered a war crime. He hadn't considered that before, and he's not sure it's hugely relevant now, so long as they don't broadcast what happened. Obi-Wan was under duress, had no choice, etc.

More importantly, Anakin will pointedly—and with visual effects that involve bloodshed—explain to anyone who wants to prosecute Obi-Wan exactly why that would be ill advised. Anakin is not letting his master take the fall for an act that was done to save _him_… not even if Obi-Wan thinks he deserves repercussions.

"What Dooku made him do," she continues once they've moved into a hallway. No one is there—he can feel with the Force. "What Dooku made him do—it was hideous. I found him standing in the middle of a clutter of bodies. I don't think he knew where he was at first. Not really."

"He didn't. He said he blacked out after the first swing."

She nods, pressing her thumb and forefinger to her temples and kneading. No doubt, she has a headache. "That's probably for the best."

"He's better now."

"You two—you—how are you both still alive? How is _either _of you still alive? Anakin, so few other Jedi are. How—how did you—?"

He pauses when she stops at a door and stands aside to let her go in first. When he slips in behind her, he notes it's a private cabin, small but adequate. It's not nearly what Padme is used to, but she'll never complain. She's tough, his wife. She's has more bravery and drive than many soldiers that he's met. If she'd been born Force-sensitive, she'd have made a fantastic Jedi.

"Plain and simple?" he asks, not really a question, as he slides down onto the bunk. "Obi-Wan is alive because Dooku has an interest in him. I'm alive because Obi-Wan, thankfully, has an interest in _me_. See, that's the problem with extortion—it's powerful, but once you use it, it's useless. If Dooku killed me, he'd have lost any hold he had over Obi-Wan."

"And now?"

"He won't kill Obi-Wan."

She lays a gentle hand on his shoulder, and as much as he's missed her touch, he flinches under it, because a touch like that—it's going to be followed by something he doesn't want to hear. He just knows it.

"Ani, are you… sure? Not even now?"

"He won't kill Obi-Wan!"

He won't. He can't. Dooku wouldn't just give up now, would he? But, some niggling part of him protests, _he_ was there before for Dooku to use. Now—now Obi-Wan isn't even going to pretend to acquiesce to Dooku's demands. And how long before Dooku loses patience with that? What then?

"We'll get him back before Dooku can change his mind about that," he says a little too vehemently for him to seem sure. It sounds like he's trying to convince himself. And maybe he is.

Padme clearly notices—there's pity in her eyes—but she doesn't say anything. She just reaches up and strokes the side of his face, and despite everything, she _is _glad to see her, plain and simple. They've been apart for a long time.

He leans down and kisses her, one hand drifting down to her stomach. Only one hand, and he really should go get that fixed, but the pain sensors have long since de-activated. He's not in pain… and time with Padme seems more urgent at the moment.

She lets him touch as they kiss, hand smoothing over her stomach, which, now that he's actually feeling, is a definitely much larger than usual. There's a baby in there. A baby. His baby. His and Padme's.

"Our baby is going to be beautiful," he mutters once they break apart, and she just leans into him, burying her head against his chest and nodding.

"I want Obi-Wan to see the baby." The idea that Obi-Wan might never see Anakin's child is… unfathomable. Since he was nine years old, Obi-Wan has been privy to almost every aspect of Anakin's life in one way or another. His master has been his one constant over that entire time. He can't possibly imagine not having him here for something so big. Anakin is going to be a father, and that makes Obi-Wan a grandfather or an uncle or—or _something_. He needs to be there for that. Anakin needs him to be.

"So do I, Ani," Padme murmurs. "And he will."

"Why would he do this, Padme?" he asks quietly, pushing his face into her hair and just breathing. He doesn't want her to see how painfully close to tears he is. He's already lost his mother—he can't lose the closest thing he has to a father. "He purposely arranged everything this way—he knew what he was facing. He knew he wasn't getting out… and he went ahead anyway, just to make sure that _I _got out. Why would he do that? His life is just as important as mine."

Lightly, Padme reaches out and grasps his wrist and, in the case of his injured arm, his upper elbow, encircling them with her own small hands and drawing his arms around her. Her fingers skitter up his arms and then around his back, holding him and rocking gently, just slowly while he takes deep breathes to hold the nearly overwhelming emotion at bay.

"Our baby, Anakin," she says quietly. "When the baby comes, would you die for that baby? Don't give an answer right away—think about it for a moment."

Would he? It's a little life that's part of him, that will be his to protect. His child. He'll spend so much of his time pouring into that child, teaching him or her, caring for his baby's needs. And when that baby starts giving back? Little smiles, giggles, even time spent rocking him or her because of a crying fit—that baby will be _depending _on him. And he'll love that baby. He knows he will, because it will be his _child_, and that is the best way he can describe it.

It will be his son or daughter, and that means everything.

"Of course I would," he tells her.

"Why?"

"Because—because they'd be my child. I'm their father. It would be my job, and I guess, just because I love them. How could I not love my own child? That baby's life is more important than mine—the baby will be more important to me than I will be to myself."

"Yes," she agrees, still rocking him. "And have you ever considered that is how Obi-Wan feels about you?"

Oh? _Oh._

He hadn't considered. Maybe he should have, because all the pieces had been there: after Obi-Wan found out what he did to the sand people, when Anakin had gone off on him, and Obi-Wan had silenced him. Somewhere along the line there, he remembers Obi-Wan saying that Anakin didn't know what he was feeling, because he had never raised a child. That makes more sense than Anakin would really like to admit. He has never truly considered Obi-Wan's point of view. Always, growing up, he just took it for granted that Obi-Wan would take care of him when he was sick, make sure he had clothes that fit, or let him sleep in his bed after a nightmare. He never considered those things from Obi-Wan's point of view.

Maybe he should have.

What is it like for a child to assume that you'll provide for his basic needs? How does it feel to teach knowing that said child trusts you to do so? What is it like to have him fall asleep against you? That's trust. Beautiful trust… and Anakin hadtrusted Obi-Wan, very much. And what of when a child hugs you, just because he wants to? There's something special about that. On the other end, how would it feel when the child in your care had a hacking cough or the flu? Would you be scared? Worried? He remembers Obi-Wan watched him carefully when he was sick, not quite hovering, but attentive. Anakin had never really noticed—he'd just taken the cold compresses on his head or the tea and soup for granted. It had simply been what Obi-Wan did, because he was supposed to take care of Anakin.

It's true that caring for Anakin had been Obi-Wan's job. However, now that Anakin really stops and thinks about it, Obi-Wan hadn't done it like a master. A master teaches—a parent raises. There's a fine line between the two, but still a distinction: teaching, in Anakin's opinion, simply outlines the way to go—shows an example. Raising—that's different. To raise a child implies more. It implies care and comfort and more than a simple conveying of information. More is invested. When someone raises a child, that child is not simply their student—they are their son or daughter.

Obi-Wan had done more than teach. Even at the time, Anakin had possessed a vague sense of that, but having known a mother, he had simply assumed Obi-Wan was supposed to be a parent like his mother had been. Yes, he remembers being surprised when he found out that when his friends at the Temple had nightmares, their masters meditated with them and sent them back to their own beds, but it had never really connected that _he _was the exception. And when other children made fun of his friends, their masters reassured them, helped them meditate on their own self-worth, and left it at that. Obi-Wan—he'd been different. Maybe it had started because Anakin had needed so much more fixing—after a childhood of slavery, he hadn't been a typical Jedi initiate—but it had morphed into something larger.

Somewhere along the line, Obi-Wan had become a parent, because that was what Anakin had needed.

And now that Anakin is faced with the same prospect, he understands just what that means.

"I'd die for my child," he says quietly, hugging Padme a little tighter. "But I don't want Obi-Wan to die for me. I want us both to live."

"And I'm sure he wants that too. But he loves you enough to do it, Ani, if he needs to."

He does. He truly does, and maybe Anakin should have really, honestly realized that sooner, but it's hitting him now like it never has. Obi-Wan has made mistakes, but he did his best, and his best was _good_. He tried to do his best for Anakin.

He is _still _doing it.

And Anakin is thankful.

Will he be that good? When the baby comes, will he truly be for his children what Obi-Wan has been for him? It's not that he doesn't want to be—he means what he says. He would give his life for his child, but when it comes to raising him or her, can he do that like Obi-Wan did? And how did Obi-Wan even do it? He'd just lost his own master, and knowing Obi-Wan as he does now, he knows how much that hurt, but, somehow, Anakin never saw his control slip, though he knows it had to have, at least at some point. Obi-Wan mourned Qui-Gon. Of that Anakin is sure. He just didn't do it where Anakin could see.

In a time when he should have been taking care of himself—healing from the loss of a master—Obi-Wan had taken care of a child. He'd made mistakes—their beginnings had been a little rocky—but, given the circumstances, he'd done well. And now Anakin is faced with the same situation.

How's that for justice? Somehow, he doesn't think even Obi-Wan would be laughing about this, as much as he likes to see Anakin get what he's given out.

Either way, _Anakin _isn't laughing. Actually, he's suddenly at a loss. What if he can't do as well as Obi-Wan did in this situation? Anakin has never liked younglings. Actually, that's not entirely true. He doesn't _dislike _them. He just has no idea of how to deal with them. How can he? He was never a typical child in any way, and the only experience he has with children is with Jedi younglings, who aren't typical children either. Of course, Anakin was even more atypical than a child raised in the Jedi Temple.

Instead, he grew up on an arid, wasteland planet as a slave. He didn't worry about learning his lessons for classes—he worried about learning how to lie by omission so that Watto wouldn't discover things Anakin would prefer to remain hidden. He didn't lie in bed wondering about what his parents might have been like—he _knew_ his mother, and he worried daily about how to keep her safe. He never compared training injuries with the other children—he just tried not to cry whenever Watto gave him some.

Jedi children never know what it's like to look up at their Jedi Master and wonder if today would be the day when he is finally pushed far enough to strike a blow that just _has _to fall eventually. And they certainly don't know what it is like when that master finally figures out why his apprentice is baiting him, trying to get that first hit out of the way.

After years of living with the certainty that eventually anyone in a position of authority, with the exception of his mother, would just _have _to hit him at some point, Anakin couldn't fathom anything else. Other Jedi children couldn't comprehend that mindset, though. They couldn't understand how it is to have a good man—a kind man—kneel down in front of you, tip your chin up until you look at him, and then promise you that he will _never _hurt you that way.

Honestly, that's probably when Anakin really first started loving his master—when he started _trusting _him… because for Anakin, the two are synonymous.

Most children don't understand any of that, and Anakin doesn't want them to. He's thankful they don't… but that doesn't make it any easier for him to relate to them.

"Anakin?"

Padme is looking up at him with worried brown eyes, wide and soft, and that feeling of just knowing she _cares_—it gives him space to breathe for at least a moment. That moment is enough. In it, he pulls himself back together. She'll be here when the baby is born. She'll help him.

And so will Obi-Wan.

They'll be a family, and they'll figure these things out. He'll be the father he needs to be. What he doesn't know, he'll learn, and what he does know, he'll learn better. It will all be fine. It _will _be.

"Are you all right?" she asks gently.

Yes. They're going to get Obi-Wan back, they'll find a way to make the galaxy right, and he _will _be a good father.

He nods. "Yes," he tells her, smiling softly and stroking her hair back as he lays a kiss on her lips.

It's not a lie.

Not right now.


	29. Chapter 28

**Disclaimer: **I own nothing.

**Feedback**: If you'd be so kind as to leave some, I'll do my best to reply.

**Notes:** ROTS AU.

Torli: No worries—Anakin will get pretty verbal when he sees Obi-Wan again.

donahermurphy: You're exactly right about Dooku: his personal attachments have clouded his judgment. Funny how he thinks the same thing is so distasteful when he sees it in Anakin, hmm?

AndrossKenobi: I feel like the Anakin I'm writing is just as angry as the Anakin of the AOTC would be, but he's just learned to control it better because he knows that will get him what he wants faster. Self-control=ability to plan. Throwing a fit does take time, after all. Heh, yes, Obi-Wan is certainly going to make himself a nuisance. A BIG nuisance. Also, you're quite right about Dooku not having thought ahead. An execution was a reaction born out of anger at having been bested—he's thinking entirely in terms of how he can get back at Anakin, and he's not considering how that will look to the rest of the galaxy.

yellow 14: "No-one hires the dead. Except necromancers" Haha, that should really be quoted somewhere. :)

whimperling: That bit about the families was a reference to all the Jedi Anakin killed. And I do have to wonder what would have happened if Luke and Leia stayed. Hard to tell. Unfortunately, you're going to have to wait for the Obi-Wan fluff—he's not going to be having much happy for a while.

imagination theater: Anakin will definitely be suspicious. Dooku doesn't give him enough credit—that's one of his major weaknesses. Thanks for watching my video!

Mreeb: First, you're conversation had me absolutely dying with laughter. That was FANTASTIC. I'm so glad you liked everything, but I'm even more glad that you let me read the conversation, because, as I've said, it was just wonderful.

Macceh: Thank you!

charliebrown1234: Well, you know, I think Obi-Wan is probably a bit tired of Anakin always swooping in to save him. He's not real fond of the fact that Anakin has a count going on that, you know, as evidenced in ROTS. Plus, I will say that death may not be quite what Obi-Wan has to worry about.

Tosharino: Thanks!

Pronker: Yes, until he faced becoming a parent, Anakin couldn't think like one and thus couldn't understand Obi-Wan. Haha, and I don't think Dooku wears them _all _the time. I imagine he takes them off when he sleeps… and showers (lucky for the rebellion, because I'm certain they don't want to hear_ that_).

anakinpadmekenobi: I assume that Dooku would do what Ventress did. However, he's not looking to gain anything substantial—at least not politically. He's angry that Anakin and Obi-Wan managed to outsmart him, and killing Anakin is, in his mind, the best way to make them pay for that. It's an action that would have no tactical importance whatsoever, and as many people have pointed out, it might even be detrimental to his cause. And, yes, I do agree that Obi-Wan's family must be pretty awesome. They won't be in this story, but I am considering writing a story that includes them. Maybe. We'll see if I get to that. I've got an awful lot of plot bunnies hopping around.

not paranoid enough: They've been held captive for a couple of months. And, yes, I will eventually mention why Padme doesn't know she's having twins. Basically, it's just along the lines of the fact that she hasn't had a pre-natal yet. She's been a little busy trying not to let her husband get killed.

Rosabell: As of yet, there are no other Jedi with Padme. In answer to the second part of your post: Dooku really just wants to prove Anakin can't get the best of him. That's his whole motivation for staging an execution. But, yes, I agree that if anyone other than Obi-Wan can mess with Dooku, it would probably be Padme. And, yes, the public still thinks Anakin's a dirty traitor. However, the rebellion has the inside information thanks to that bug, and thus they don't believe the lies Dooku spread.

Booknerd101: Oh, Anakin will definitely get another shot at Dooku.

* * *

Dooku doesn't announce Obi-Wan's execution—or lack thereof—right away. At first, that puzzles Obi-Wan, but it doesn't take him long to realize what Dooku is doing: he's letting Anakin consider, wonder, and drive himself insane in the mire of his own thoughts. And then, when he does announce his intention to execute Obi-Wan, Anakin will be left to wonder what was happening to Obi-Wan during the time it took for Dooku to reach that decision. Naturally, torture will be an obvious assumption, and Anakin has so many associations to go with that. So many memories after Jabiim. The possibility will drive him mad.

It's a very good tactic.

In the meantime, Obi-Wan might just go mad himself.

Frankly, it's possible he preferred it when Dooku was still actively assigning him tasks to make his life difficult. It gave him something to resist, and that took concentration. There was still something to fight for.

Now, Dooku simply looks at him with an air of a man who knows he's won. Every time he's forced to meet Dooku's eyes, he sees the tendrils of superiority snaking in under the man's expression until Dooku's skin pulls tight over the bones of his face and his mouth twists into a half-smirk.

There are no ultimatums, no promises that Dooku will spare Anakin if only Obi-Wan will turn. In the days since Anakin's escape, he's ceased to be that blunt, and has instead turned to the practice of waiting, like a creature lurking in the shadows. He _is _shadow, smothering in his silence, and the words he doesn't speak are incredibly effective. He's pushing Obi-Wan to offer his own descent for Anakin's life, and he's doing it without saying a word. He's pushing Obi-Wanto be the one who _suggests_ it.

And, Force, it _is _chilling to consider how close he sometimes is to saying what Dooku wants to hear.

Not today, though. If he just keeps thinking that every day, then he can hold out. Perhaps Anakin won't even come and Dooku will grow tired of whatever sick game he's playing. Perhaps, for once in his life, Anakin will do the logical thing and refuse to come.

But he will. Obi-Wan knows he will.

Right now, it's the one thing he knows for sure.

"Forgive me, but I fail to see why I am here."

A training room, deep in the Jedi Temple. He'd practiced here with Anakin many times. Now Dooku stands before him, cape discarded, lightsaber in hand, another clipped to his belt. Obi-Wan can't suppress the shiver of unease that ripples through him—he is unarmed, after all—but he keeps his hands neatly tucked behind his back, shoulders held stiffly, and spine straight.

Dooku twirls the lightsaber in an elegant arch of red light before allowing the blade to point toward the floor. "To train."

Dooku's saber glows steadily in the harsh light of the training facility, scattering an eerie pattern of light across the floor. Obi-Wan grew up with lightsabers, with the noise and sight and even the smell they leave in the air, but he has never seen a red pattern. The few times he's faced someone who wields one, they never idled long enough to let him look. "What for?"

"What did you _ever_ train for?"

It's a simple question, but he knows he's being baited with it. Any answer he gives will be twisted. "For things that I don't believe you ever truly understood."

Dooku's mouth twitches. There's no smile, but Obi-Wan can see the emotion in the lightening of his eyes and in the way his face relaxes. For Dooku, this is play. Whether or not he admits it to himself, he enjoys these sorts of conversations.

He also enjoys the destruction of democracy.

Obi-Wan supposes he will have to be forgiven if he finds Dooku's taste in entertainment a bit questionable.

"You've been inactive for too long, Master Kenobi. Surely you can't object to keeping your skills sharp?" he asks, hand going to the spare saber on his belt.

"No, but I can object to helping you sharpen _yours_." He pauses, and behind his back, where Dooku can't see, he gives in to his excess annoyance and violently twists his fingers into the coarse fabric of his tunic. His hands are dry, and the tiny cracks in his skin catch on the cloth, irritating him. He doesn't like the feel. "I have no wish to spar with you."

"And if I give you no choice?"

"I have the choice not to fight back."

Dooku nods. "You do." He reaches down to his belt, unclips his saber, and tosses it to Obi-Wan.

Obi-Wan catches it.

It feels good. It's not a real saber—only a training one—but the weight feels right in his hand, and in some ways it's more comforting than a real saber, because he can't kill with this one. He can't do what he did on Utapau. Maybe he shouldn't even want to hold a lightsaber, but this is who he is, what he grew up doing, and it's second nature to curve his hand around the hilt, like he's grasping hands with an old familiar friend.

"You do have that choice," Dooku says softly, and Obi-Wan has only the flash of warning in his eyes and a quick shift in the Force, warning of danger, before Dooku lunges forward.

Obi-Wan blocks the strike and tries not to consider Dooku's satisfied smile.

Beyond that, he can't stop to consider much else. He gets the feeling he's lost some sort of battle that has nothing to do with the physical fight at hand, but the thought is beaten back before it can really surface, slashed away with the quick, deadly flashes of his opponent's lightsaber. Dooku's quick, and his blade dances in an older style that's far more elegant than anything Obi-Wan has mastered.

It's not quite like Geonosis. Obi-Wan has learned since then. He never _stops _learning.

He tried so hard after Geonosis. It had been embarrassing to be beaten like that, embarrassing to fail to protect himself or his padawan. He knows where he'd gone wrong, where he'd let his guard down, but it wasn't a matter of fixing one move, because Dooku was simply a superior fighter. If it hadn't been that particular mistake, it would have been another.

Obi-Wan had just needed to be _better_.

So, he worked to be.

And he has becomebetter… the question becomes: how _much_?

Dooku's blade darts up over his head, slicing down toward him, and then flicking back up, to the side. A swipe at his side, fast, and Obi-Wan blocks it half on reflex and half on the knowledge of Dooku's fighting style that he's gained in his hours of study since Geonosis. With Dooku, there's no sense of any sort of hacking movement—all the strikes are precise, light, and fluid. If Obi-Wan were an outsider looking on, he might be able to appreciate the nature of it, just as he could appreciate the fluidity of a dance.

When Dooku catches him in a saber lock, he doesn't do what he did before: instead, he lets it go and falls back, breathing hard.

"You've learned," Dooku says, sounding pleased as he reaches up and dabs at his brow with his sleeve, gingerly wiping away the sweat beginning to bead there.

He _has_ learned, and the value of that cannot be underestimated: he has precious little on his side beyond what he's learned. First lesson? His weapon is his life—this he knows—and he reflexively tightens his grip on the saber. How foolish, considering it's only a training saber, while Dooku's is very real. If Dooku wants to kill him, he only has to keep fighting until Obi-Wan tires. A training saber is no true defense.

Dooku is toying with him, clearly with the intention of discerning something. What, though? The blows are coming too fast for Obi-Wan to think with any clarity—every thought he grasps slips away almost before he manages to touch it, always too fast for him to analyze.

Ducking to the side, Obi-Wan attacks with a strike of his own but is almost immediately forced back. This is foolish. What's he fighting back for? He can't do this forever. If Dooku wants to kill him, he will. In fighting, he is only like a small animal caught in a trap—he's _letting _Dooku manipulate him, and for what?

What, he knows, is oddly simply: it's the part of him that wants to know Dooku's endgame. Every slash and parry is an attempt to stay alive long enough to gain the information he craves. A shift in tactics could, however be in order: he's only tiring himself by fighting, and he has nothing to lose by trying a different tactic.

Taking a deep breath, he pulls back.

"If you're going to kill me, tell me that's your intention. We both know I can't stop you."

Dooku glances downward at where Obi-Wan is still gripping the saber. The weapon he used to defend himself. The thing he stopped Dooku's assault with. The thing he used to _fight back. _"You don't wish to die. Men who wish to die don't defend themselves."

And, clearly, with a sinking feeling, Obi-Wan realizes that is exactly what Dooku wanted to find out. _Would he defend himself_? Does he still want to live? Dooku wanted to know, and in order to satisfy his curiosity, he forced Obi-Wan into an impossible situation… and got his answer when Obi-Wan still fought back.

"I'm not playing," he whispers.

He's not. His self-respect won't allow him to let Dooku toy with him.

And because it won't, he throws the lightsaber aside. It clatters to the floor and rolls toward the edge of the room where it stops against the wall, oddly innocuous against the pale color of the room.

Immediately, his hand aches with the loss of the weight, and his fingers spasmodically grip the empty space, caressing air. He's never willingly thrown his weapon away in the face of the enemy before—it goes against everything he's ever been taught—and he can hardly believe he's doing it now. _What _is he doing? If he's wrong—if he's misread read Dooku's intent—he'll be dead in a matter of seconds.

"I do not _wish _to die," he says slowly, mouth dry. "But if that's what it takes, I will."

Dooku stares at him with an expression that's entirely unreadable. That doesn't change when he deactivates his lightsaber and hooks it back onto his belt, resting it against his hip where he can still easily reach it. "Sadly, that's not an option." Still, his fingers smooth over the hilt of his lightsaber in a clear reminder. Obi-Wan truly hates his hands: they are as deceiving as the rest of him. They appear elegant, as though belonging to a gentleman, but they have used the Force to choke the life out of men. They have killed. Dooku _kills_.

He kills, because he's confident that he _can_.

Obi-Wan should hate him for that, but hate blinds, and as imperfect as he is, he can still recognize that. It takes every lesson in self-control, but he clears his mind and focuses on that, mentally bearing down on it until it translates to the physical in a grinding of teeth.

Dooku knows he can kill. Why? Because he truly _can_. He is confident of that, and there is some answer for Obi-Wan to be had in evidence of such a brash trust in one's self. Dooku trusts no one other than himself, but in that, at least, he is entirely predictable. That makes a pattern—something concrete for Obi-Wan to grasp, because he's seen it a thousand times—seen it in _Anakin, _even—and thatpatternis what he needs. He needs something clever that he knows and understands—that he can handle—because by conventional methods, Dooku seems unbeatable.

_Seems_.

No one is unbeatable, and this flaw of Dooku's practically screams in Obi-Wan's face, because it is also Anakin's, and, from that, Obi-Wan has seen enough of it to know its nature. It's not completely the same—Anakin is not evil—but Obi-Wan can draw parallels, enough to know that no matter who the person is, confidence multiplies… and when Dooku turns a moment later to head toward the door of the training room, Obi-Wan knows his confidence has overtaken him.

Only an arrogant man would trust in himself enough to turn his back on a fully trained Jedi.

And Obi-Wan makes him pay for it.

In a flurry of motion, he tackles Dooku from behind, hand scrambling for the saber hooked on Dooku's belt. It closes around it as they both skid across the floor, slamming into a wall, but Dooku twists, spine snapping him around in a way that it's almost inconceivable at his age, and he's able to grab Obi-Wan's wrist.

When he brings the red blade to life, Obi-Wan finds he can't use it.

Not yet, at least.

Grunting, he deactivates the saber and yanks his arm down, trying to break Dooku's hold where it's weakest. It's harder without leverage—they're both on the ground—but he has age on his side, and in a weaponless fight he knows he can beat Dooku. He can.

And he does.

Dooku's nails rip through the skin of his wrist as Obi-Wan pulls free, gouging bloody streaks that aren't deep enough to even merit Obi-Wan's attention, and once Dooku's fingers slip from his wrist, Obi-Wan springs to his feet, igniting his weapon and falling down toward Dooku in a strike that should be deadly. He can feel the heat of the weapon as it arches forward, bathing Dooku's face in red as he rolls to the side, hand out, straining desperately…

The training saber flies into his hand just in time for him to catch Obi-Wan's blow.

Too late. Too late now. This won't end quickly. Now, this is an armed duel. Dooku is the better duelist, and Obi-Wan knows that, but he also knows he doesn't need a killing blow right away. If he can wear Dooku down, he can ends things at that point.

Dooku knows it.

Obi-Wan can see the realization in the fervent way he works to disarm, but Obi-Wan has fallen back on the defensive, drawing Dooku forward. Dooku attempts to remove his weapon, and Obi-Wan simply parries. One expends energy; the other conserves it.

Obi-Wan just has to wait.

As the minutes tick by, the wait grows shorter. Beads of sweat are thickening on Dooku's brow, matting gray hair and flushing his skin. Now, his age begins to show. He's in remarkable physical condition for a man of his years, but he can't keep this up… and he knows it. In the Force, his worry heads steadily toward desperation. Obi-Wan feels it, and he waits.

He lets Dooku drive him toward the wall opposite the door. The man truly must be growing desperate—his strikes aren't as efficient as they were—they're slower, and more hacking—and it's obvious that his entire intent is to push Obi-Wan back to the wall. Fine. He can do that, and then Obi-Wan will simply fall away at the last moment, forcing him to take another direction.

Before he can, however, Dooku pulls back and slams into him with the Force, sending him smashing back against the wall hard enough that he feels the blow in his bones.

Hard as the hit was, it's not enough: Obi-Wan doesn't lose his lightsaber or his footing. Unfortunately, that's not terribly relevant when Dooku's intention seems to be the exact opposite of an attack: he turns and runs for the door.

It will open under Dooku's command.

_Only_ Dooku's command.

Obi-Wan blinks. And then he _realizes_.

No. How could he have overlooked that? He should have remembered, should have stopped him, and he tears after Dooku, but Dooku is already activating the door, and he won't make it—

The door slams in his face just as Dooku throws himself beyond it.

Obi-Wan is left in the middle of a locked training room, lit lightsaber in hand, and no opponent.

He can't give up yet. Not yet. There's still a chance, at least for escape, and he plunges the blade into the door of the room, willing it to burn through the material faster. The metal bubbles and flakes, parts of it melting, and as quickly as he can, he cuts through the barrier between himself and the outside.

A sharp kick sends the metal flying outward, and seconds later a loud clang follows as it smashes into the floor. Almost before the piece has stopped moving, Obi-Wan is sprinting down the corridor. Dooku is gone, but at this point, that's not his main concern. For now, he'll be content with escape.

More than likely, Dooku knows that.

Again, their roles have shifted. Though he has a weapon, Obi-Wan has ceased to be the one with the upper hand. Now, he's just running. This has become about escape, and Dooku will not easily allow him that. Moments ago, he had Dooku cornered: now, he's trying to avoid that very thing himself.

His feet slap against the floor as he whips around corners. He knows this place by heart, but Dooku will too, and that pressures him into taking a less obvious, more roundabout root. Is that a good idea? Hard to tell, but he has less than no time to consider it. He's thinking as he moves, every strain of muscle echoing in his brain as blood pumps madly to each part of his body. His heart is in his throat, and his lungs burn, but he runs, and runs, and runs, because he doesn't want to go back, and this may be his only chance.

He just runs.

Regrettably—at least in this moment—the Jedi were not foolish. The Temple is designed to be defendable. No building can be completely secure, but there's only so many ways out. He runs for the one he thinks is both closest and most difficult for the clones or Dooku to reach before he gets there. He makes a gamble on that course of action…

…and loses.

Dooku isn't waiting for him. In that, at least, he is fortunate. He is less fortunate, however, in the fact that there are many clones that _are_. There are too many. He knows that, because as he skids to a stop in front of them, he feels others close in behind him. He can't fight them on both fronts.

His fight is, by all logic, over.

He feels the failure in ever part of him. In his legs, there's an odd jitter, and his fingers tingle on the weapon he knows he's about to lose. Even his back aches, every muscle coiled tightly. He's _lost, _and his body knows it, even if his mind hasn't yet accepted the reality of it.

"Put your weapon down, Jedi," one of the clones orders. Obi-Wan isn't sure who it is. They're all wearing helmets right now, and none of the armor has distinctive markings. It's a small mercy that these aren't his former men. "Surrender and you won't be harmed."

Surrender? Why? If he's killed, Dooku won't have anyone to pretend to execute. Anakin will have no reason to put his life in jeopardy.

This is a way out. He can't take his own life—he simply _can't_—but he _can_ put himself in a situation where he knows he'll die. Is there truly such a distinction? Perhaps not, but it soothes his conscience, and he raises his blade, expecting the feel of a bolt to the back when he lunges forward and slices through one of the clones.

It doesn't take long.

Pity that he quickly realizes he didn't what he wanted. The shot was only set to stun.

He's still breathing.

* * *

He underestimated Kenobi.

It was an action born of confidence, of past evidence, but still an erroneous conclusion. Certainly, Kenobi can't beat him in a straight fight, but he should have recognized that Kenobi has experience in that respect: between Kenobi and Skywalker, Kenobi's former padawan is the better pure fighter. Thus, Kenobi has developed other ways to win. He uses wit and logic when others rely on pure talent; misdirection when he cannot win with obvious tactics; and tenacity when others would concede.

Given the fact that Kenobi possesses quite a lot of talent to begin with, that's a formidable combination.

Dooku should have seen that. Perhaps, had he not been so certain that Kenobi had run out of options, he would have remembered that the man specializes in _creating _options.

No matter. Though the fact that his opponent quite nearly ended his life is a blow to his pride, it did not ultimately occur. Kenobi is no better off now than he was two days ago. If anything, he is worse.

Ordinarily, Dooku would wait for Kenobi to wake. He does want a word with him, it's true, but for the time being, that can wait. Currently, he'd rather have a word with Skywalker.

Regrettably, that's not immediately possible. Skywalker has no doubt gone underground with whatever resistance he could find. The question becomes, what _did _he find? Kenobi had a contact, and for Skywalker to disappear so quickly—it indicates that he knew the contact as well. It must be someone with power, obviously, because plucking a ship from Coruscant's atmosphere before Dooku could use his considerable resources to locate it—that is, even by Dooku's standards, impressive.

Kenobi won't tell, of course. Dooku did him the courtesy of asking, yes, but he's past the point where he's willing to extend his hospitality to any greater degree. Kenobi will not tell, so Dooku will not ask again.

"Create an open message. Something that can be picked up by the members of whatever pathetic insurrection Skywalker has inevitably joined."

The clone to whom he is speaking stares at him emotionlessly. Frankly, Dooku finds it a bit disconcerting that their facial expressions almost never change. He can't even remember the name of this particular clone, though he supposes it doesn't much matter—they will all follow any order he gives them, no matter how heinous, because that is how they are programmed. When it comes right down to it, they are, in his mind, really no different than droids, and beyond the fact that they are living creatures, he can't see much reason to treat them as anything greater.

"Sir, an open message will be available to more than just the rebels. Anyone with a transmitter can pick it up. It could become public knowledge."

With his finger, he traces the arm of the chair in which he's sitting, feigning disinterest. In reality, he is focused and intent: he _will _avoid further mistakes. "This isn't a confidential message."

The clone just nods. It's strange how stiff they are, formal in everything, down to the smallest sign of acquiescence. "Yes, Sir. Right away."

"Very good."

That's the benefit of clones: when they tell him "right away", they truly mean immediately, as evidenced by the fact that, a few minutes later, Dooku is ready and prepared to record his transmission.

Five minutes after that, his words and image are sailing into the public domain. Skywalker will see them. Kenobi's contact will see them.

Most importantly, the public will see them.


	30. Chapter 29

**Disclaimer: **I own nothing.

**Feedback**: If you'd be so kind as to leave some, I'll do my best to reply.

**Notes:** ROTS AU.

markim: Thanks, and, as requested, here's an update!

charliebrown1234: I have to admit, duels are difficult to right. I'm not expert on sword fights or the techniques behind them, so I'm basing everything off observation. Plus, it's easy to let them get very repetitive—it's always interesting to try to describe the moves of a saber fight in a way that doesn't bore people.

Star the Foxhound: I'm glad you finished reading! Knowing people have read the last chapter motivates me to post an update, because I always feel badly about making them wait (I know that, as a reader, I hate to wait). Thanks for taking the time to check out my videos too!

MobiObi: I agree that Dooku is possible to empathize with, or at least pity. And, yes, Obi-Wan is pretty spot on about Dooku, isn't he? He's so overconfident that he doesn't even see his own overconfidence. I hadn't considered that angle on the clones. It's not one I'll probably work with, but it's most definitely one that I like. And what you're doing isn't rambling! It's helpful, constructive feedback, and I appreciate it more than you know.

donahermurphy: You may love the parallels, but I love when people notice the parallels I put in! And, really, it's just like Obi-Wan to figure out how to screw his enemies by twisting defeat into victory, isn't it? Vader really should have been smart enough to realize that if Obi-Wan was flat out _warning _him that killing him was a bad idea, there was probably a very good reason. And, seriously, Obi-Wan is about the only character that I've ever seen who likes to give warnings to his enemies. The whole "don't try it" thing, and the "if you strike me down now I'll become more powerful. Yeah, it's not like he didn't warn Anakin at just about every turn… Also, I like the idea that "Yoda faced Palpatine to kill a man, while Luke did it to save one." Very neat.

AndrossKenobi: I think Obi-Wan gets underestimated. Anakin is the one who always fights, and so people somehow get the idea Obi-Wan isn't as potentially lethal. I would agree that Anakin probably has more raw power and talent, but give me a guy who fights strategically any day. Cunning and resourcefulness will eventually win out over raw talent, as the Kenobi/Skywalker duel on Mustafar showed.

yellow 14: Mmm, it all seems to come back to Dooku's overconfidence, doesn't it?

Macceh: Thank you!

charliebrown1234: Well, you know, I think Obi-Wan is probably a bit tired of Anakin always swooping in to save him. He's not real fond of the fact that Anakin has a count going on that, you know, as evidenced in ROTS. Plus, I will say that death may not be quite what Obi-Wan has to worry about.

Tosharino: A little of both, maybe? :)

Pronker: I re-read that and laughed. It's like a schoolyard brawl with lightsabers.

* * *

Padme had been under the impression that Dooku could not smear Anakin's name more than he already had. Clearly, she was wrong.

Thanks to Dooku, her husband is labeled a traitor. He's also a war criminal. Before, it had been tolerable, because while the public at large might not have known the truth, _she _did, and Anakin has always been able to put up with a good deal if he knows the people he cares for most are backing him. And if the public decries his very existence? Well, at least the rebellion knows the truth, and even if sometimes there are individuals that stoop to make comments, they've at least accepted Anakin's presence. It's not entirely a victory—Padme suspects many members of the rebellion would throw him out if he wasn't such a brilliant commander. But they don't, because they need him, plain and simple, and if they have to ally themselves with someone who handed Dooku information—not matter what his reasons—in order to obtain the skills Anakin has, they will accept that.

But now, due to the open transmission Dooku sent—clearly, he was making no effort whatsoever to keep it from being intercepted by whomever might be listening, civilian or rebel—Anakin is also viewed as someone who abandoned the man who raised and trained him.

That, Padme knows, is eating at him more than any of the other accusations, largely because, at least in some capacity, Anakin believes it's true.

"It's not true, Ani," she says quietly from behind him.

Anakin is bent over the holotransmitter, hands braced on its edges and shoulders hunched slightly higher than they should be, so tense that he can't relax his muscles enough to let them down. She can't see his face, but she's sure that if she could, it would have a shade of disgust and possibly desperation to it.

Dooku's face flickers in front of Anakin, frozen in the last seconds of the transmission. Anakin simply stares, even though he's watched this at least a dozen times already. Even when she lays a hand on his back—and, as she thought, his muscles are tensed almost impossibly tightly—he doesn't turn away.

"Get me a scrambled line to the Jedi Temple. Untraceable, but open to whomever wants to intercept it. I can play this game as well as Dooku."

"_Anakin?"_

He can't be suggesting what it sounds like. He just—he can't. Anakin is reckless, capable of working near miracles, but he can't believe this will work. He wants to _talk _with Dooku? He has to know that won't help anything. Whether or not Dooku is bluffing in his threats, Anakin's temper won't make things better.

"He's announced that he's going to execute Obi-Wan. I want to get a read on whether or not he's serious."

That's not what he wants, Padme knows. He just wants to look Dooku in the face and tell him how deplorable his actions are. How deplorable _Dooku _is. He wants to make his opinion known, and it will do _absolutely no good._

And, despite that, Padme is already waving someone to her side. She hardly notices who it is—some technician, who, along with several dozen other members of the rebellion, heard Dooku's transmission. The person's exact identity is, at this moment, irrelevant.

Wordlessly, she indicates for them to do as Anakin asked. Why? Good question. She doesn't know. She shouldn't let him do this, but there's something about the determination he's wearing like a second skin that convinces her. In some fashion, she's swept along with his passion, and it makes her believe in him, more than she already did. Whatever he's doing, he'll make it work.

She'll just believe that.

Dooku is waiting when, an hour later, they put through the call: the moment they make contact, his image flairs to life, as smug and self-assured as he ever is in the flesh. He knew Anakin would call, and he could care less whether Anakin knows that. He likely enjoys letting him know how predictable he is.

Predictable or not, he hasn't won anything yet. The line Anakin is using is secure—though she doesn't trust that entirely, which is why she insisted that Anakin jumped a couple of parasecs over from their position before he even accepted the first communication, and then several parasecs more before he replied. Hours from their base, Dooku would have to do a lot of guesswork to place the whereabouts of the rebellion even if he can trace the call, which Padme is sure he can't.

It's simply that sure isn't good enough these days.

"Hurt him and I'll find a way to kill you," Anakin says by way of greeting. He straightens up now, raking the hair back out of his eyes with fingers quickened by excess energy—the kind that comes from nerves.

Dooku's eyes glitter. Malice like that—it should eat a person alive, she thinks. Someday, it will probably consume him.

Not soon enough.

"You wouldn't be capable," Dooku tells him confidently. "Past experience has made it quite clear that your master isn't capable of besting me in a fight—there is no reason for me to suspect that you, a student of his teachings, would fair any better."

Anakin leans back down on the table, staring at Dooku's hologram as though he can burn the real person on that look alone. Oddly, though, there's something beyond anger—something more… confident.

"I'm a better swordsman then Obi-Wan. Ask him. He'll tell you."

Dooku rolls his eyes and smoothes the edge of his cloak with more care than he gives his conversation with Anakin. Padme is sure that's intentional. "I believe we'd both agree that Master Kenobi has, in the past, given you a bit too much credit."

Anakin's hands clench, but his face remains unchanged. Two years ago, he might not have had that kind of control. Slow though it may be, he _is _learning. "For what?" he asks, and Padme just _knows _he's not going to give ground. He's going to hit right on what Dooku is skirting around, hoping that if he drags it kicking and screaming out into the light, Dooku will have less to hurt him with. "For being on the side of the light? Maybe he did give me too much credit, but I'm still here, aren't I?"

Dooku shrugs. "Give or take a few cases of mass murder."

"Well, no one knows that better than I do. You of all people should understand."

No reaction. Just a blank stare—a cold one, but then, that is blank for Dooku. "The way it feels to kill? I do. I understand what if feels like to have a being perish at your hand. That's power, Skywalker. I suspect you know. I suspect you liked it."

Did he? Padme doesn't know. He certainly didn't like himself _after_, but while he was swinging, did the power of life and death over another being intoxicate him? Did he get a high from killing? Did it feel good?

She's not certain she truly wants to know.

Anakin straightens up and tucks his hands behind his back, the way she's seen him do when he's standing at attention before a commanding officer… or when he's commanding. With Dooku, it is most certainly the later. "I did," he says quietly.

This time, there's a hint of surprise in Dooku's gaze; the blue lines in the hologram flicker slightly around his eyes, working to catch the nuances of the movement.

"What?" Anakin asks with a slight smile. "You didn't expect me to admit that? I _did_ like it. I liked it in war, too, because, on the battlefield, that's the only thing that will keep you sane. You can't think of the enemy as flesh and blood—as fellow sentient beings. If you do, you'll be a wreck, like most everyone is the first time they kill. You have to reduce your enemy to just that—your _enemy. _Nothing more. Not even sentient. I did the same thing with the sand people. They'd killed my mother—I couldn't view them as anything other than animals that deserved to be slaughtered. When you reach that point—when you don't think about the life you're destroying—there's something satisfying about each kill. It's a high you won't get anywhere else. In war, that's all right. Killing is what you're supposed to do. It's what we're _trained _to do. Anywhere else, it's a mortal sin… and it should be. Because no matter how we look at it, we're taking lives."

He pauses then, staring, as though Dooku is truly in front of him. Padme just watches, watches her husband slip into a roll he doesn't ever take on with her. He's a general too, her husband. He's not just her Ani.

This man before her—he's dangerous. He was made for war.

This, she suspects, was the base of the man Palpatine was after. He'd wanted to make this man all that Anakin is—a man not tempered by the good that also resides in him. Palpatine had wanted this to be the only thing left of Anakin.

"Let's be clear," Anakin says slowly, with a deliberateness that's a bit frightening. "This war isn't over yet. This isn't peacetime… and in war, I have a license to kill."

Dooku appears unimpressed. "Not indiscriminately."

"I doubt anyone would see killing _you_ as indiscriminate."

No. Padme is nearly tempted to laugh at the idea alone. Anakin looks like he wants to too—or he would, if anything made him want to laugh right now.

"Let him go. Let him go, or I'll make you regret it."

"I'll look forward to the challenge," Dooku says with the edge of a smile. He should know better. He should know that Anakin means what he says. He should know what that _means_.

For the life of her, Padme can't understand why Dooku doesn't see this Anakin as a threat. He doesn't understand. He can't fathom what Anakin will do to protect those he loves.

Quite frankly, Padme isn't sure she can either. She's not certain she even wants to.

A soft exhale of breath, a tiny pinch at the corners of his mouth, and then Anakin's fingers slip to the buttons of the console. His face is set. It's obvious. This is not play, or if it is, it's the kind of game where men end up dead.

"I suspect we'll see each other soon."

Dooku chuckles. "I doubt you'll even make it past security."

Anakin disconnects.

"I need a briefing on our resources."

Padme just looks at him.

"Number of men. Equipment. Everything."

It takes her a moment to move, and when she does, it's hardly anything noteworthy: just a quick crossing of her arms, and the way she shifts her weight from foot to foot. She's not incredulous, but she isn't in agreement with him yet. Not _yet_. "What are you going to do?"

"I spent years serving in this war, Padme. And I know the best way to make an enemy look away from the place where you want to go is to draw their attention elsewhere."

"Anakin, we don't have the resources the Republic had—"

True, but he's made due with not enough before. He'll do it again now. That's what a good general does: he works with what he's given, and he _makes _it work, and he takes down what he needs to take down. He just gets the job done. "I'll make due with what you've got."

A whisper of breath escapes from the corner of her mouth. Almost a sigh, but not quite. "And what _do_ you plan to do?" she asks, interested and skeptical all at the same time.

"Essentially? Exactly the same thing the Separatists did during the Clone Wars. I want to spread their forces thin. I can't do it on nearly the same scale, but all I've got to do is distract Dooku just _enough_—" He stops, mechanical hand clenching, then releasing slowly as he consciously forces himself to relax. He won't do anyone any good if he isn't in control of his own senses. "The Seps had that advantage during the war—the Republic had to defend planets more often than it had to try to overtake them. That's the disadvantage that comes with being the one to defend a large territory. Now, Dooku has that disadvantage, and I plan to use it."

Still, she doesn't look quite convinced. At first that was understandable, but he's explained now, and he doesn't like that tiny crease in her forehead, the kind she only gets when she thinks he's being unrealistic. He's not. He's being very realistic. His realism is just a little more daring than anyone else's.

"Anakin, the rebellion has just been founded. We don't have the resources—"

He waves her off. "We'll get them as we go. This isn't the same as if Palpatine took over—Dooku isn't going to have the same support that Palpatine would have had if he'd taken over subtly. Subtle could have made it look like he was trying to do what was best for the people. Dooku staged an all-out takeover. There's nothing subtle about that, and the people hate him. People will give up freedoms to be safe in wartime, but only if they don't think it will be permanent. Palpatine would have made it seem temporary at first—Dooku didn't bother, and the people hate him for it."

"Honestly, Anakin," she tells him slowly, biting her lip, and he just _knows_ he isn't going to like what she says, "not as much as they hate _you_."

He shrugs. "They're allowed to publically hate me. Encouraged to, even. Anyone who publically expresses displeasure with Dooku won't be expressing much of anything else in the future. I'm the more convenient target."

"And you think that will change if you attack Dooku?"

"I think people will want their freedom. And I think if I offer them the only conceivable way of getting it, they'll conveniently remember what I did during the war and not what they found out after." Smirking, he adds, "I was a hero once, you know."

That draws a grudging smirk. "A humble one, too."

"I'm a good commander and a good strategist. I won a lot of battles in the war."

And he was. But, now, things are different. One man can't win a war. He doesn't have the rest of the Jedi with him. He doesn't have anything except a small set of rebels, some charisma, a reputation for success, and a lot of determination.

Oddly, there have been times when he's worked with less.

"Look, Padme," he says softly, appealing now, because he needs her approval for this, not because she can stop him, but because he just _needs _her. "I can do this. I can. _We _can."

For whatever reason, she seems almost amused, though not necessarily at him. "You realize I'm one of the people heading up the rebellion, right?"

He nods. "Yes."

"You'll be taking commands from_ me_."

Oh. Yes. Well, he can see why she'd find that amusing. He's not so taken aback by it as she might think, but, well, she's probably not currently in the mindset to recall that he spent his first solo mission mostly taking orders from her. It hadn't been official, and, granted, he hadn't _always _listened, but what she hadn't realized at the time—and probably still hasn't quite grasped—is that he listened to her far more than he would have to most anyone else.

"Tell that to Obi-Wan when you next see him. He'll find it funnier than I do."

"I'll bet he will," she agrees, sounding satisfied. Then, sighing, she rolls her eyes and reaches out, laying a hand on his arm—his newly reattached arm—and pulling it around her. He's not used to this—this easy display of affection—but he lets her, because, as it suddenly strikes him, it doesn't matter _who_ knows that they're married.

It doesn't matter anymore.

That feels good. Not quite as good as it would if the world weren't upside down, but still _good_.

"I'm gonna need that list of resources," he reminds her again, indulging just a little and flexing his fingers—his real ones—against her back. She doesn't pull away.

"I'll have someone brief you."

He just nods. Any other time he might complain, whine like the child he's not and ask for a very _personal _briefing, but not right now. As much as he loves his wife, he has other things on his mind beyond spending time in her company… at least right now. Doesn't mean he _wants _to think about other things, of course. When they get Obi-Wan back, he's going to make him do a lot of babysitting to make up for this. He'll get time with Padme then.

For now, he'll do what he's done all throughout the war, no matter what the Jedi said.

He'll do his duty.

It's just that, this time, his duty is personal.

* * *

When Obi-Wan wakes, it's to a cold floor and a dry, stale scent that he knows from experience to be processed air. Too many times he's woken like this, cheek pressed to metal, shivering slightly from the chill.

This time, Dooku has apparently had enough.

Because it's an inevitability that he can't escape at this moment—why can't the inevitable ever be something pleasant?—he finally opens his eyes and pushes himself up, trying to ignore the irritating throb in his head. He's not hurt this time, at least—just a little shaken up from the stun. That's the headache. Of course, he's had worse.

Truthfully, he's had worse quarters, too, but at least when he was sleeping in a trench, he hadn't been a prisoner there. Here, there's no mistaking his circumstances. How unpleasant.

Even if, by some miracle of a concussed brain—and he doesn't actually think he's concussed right now—he managed to miss that, Dooku clears it up quite effectively.

Dooku is sitting in a spartan metal chair outside the field of energy that is, for the moment, Obi-Wan's door, watching him impassively. Both of his hands rest on a knee, but he doesn't grip tightly. He's simply watching. Waiting.

"If you want to act like a prisoner, Master Kenobi," he says tonelessly, "then I will allow you to do so."

"A prisoner?" he asks, pushing himself back against the wall. No need to stand up. Dooku isn't going to attack him, and it's not as though he's in the presence of company that deserves the courtesy of him taking to his feet. "As opposed to what? The honored guest I was before?"

Dooku blinks, and while the motion should seem innocuous, there's something sinister and dreadfully calculating about it. "I have tried my best to be generous, but you have forced my hand."

"Then I've at least done one thing correctly." Why is Dooku even bothering with any of this? Even if—_especially _if—Dooku kills Anakin, Obi-Wan will not aid him in anything. Why bother with Obi-Wan at all when it will gain Dooku nothing and only take up his time? This is all so terribly pointless. Now, since Utapau—more so since Anakin left—Obi-Wan just sits here and rots, sometimes from the inside out, depending on his state of mind.

And Dooku says he's tried to be generous. Is letting Obi-Wan live supposed to be generosity? None of this is generosity. None of this is compassion. _None_ of it is. It's a desperate attempt to hold onto a bit of affection. Everything is so twisted now, though—this is what affection is like when the dark side gets a hold of it.

Obi-Wan shivers, and it has nothing to do with the chill in the air.

Hands going to his own throat, Dooku unhooks his cloak and, apparently having seen Obi-Wan's shiver and mistaking it for something it was not, tosses it into the cell toward him. It falls a few feet away from Obi-Wan, half fluttering, half crumpling to a place by his boots.

"No, thank you," he says in his best imitation of manners.

Dooku's expression doesn't change, even when he rises from his chair in one smooth movement. He appears strange without his cloak. Smaller, maybe, and a bit less broad in the shoulders. "You'll want it," he says, and, finally, a small hint of satisfaction—_cruel _satisfaction—manifests itself in his features. "I'm told it gets quite cold here at night… or it will if no one turns the heat on."

So far underground? Yes, Obi-Wan imagines it will.

"Remember, Obi-Wan," he says, pausing as he turns to go, "you chose this. You chose to be treated like a prisoner. You have the ability to choose otherwise just as easily."

Did he choose this? Perhaps that's true, but, really, it's more about what he_ didn't_ choose. He never truly thought about choices in terms of paths not taken before. It doesn't seem conceivable that what wasn't chosen could be just as important as what was.

"What are you hoping to gain?"

Again, Dooku stops, this time just at the perimeters of Obi-Wan's line of sight. Any further and he'll be off down the hallway, striding past other empty cells where Obi-Wan won't be able to see him.

In the back of his mind, Obi-Wan finds himself wondering just what part of the detention area in the Jedi Temple he's in.

"Gain?" he asks slowly, and though Dooku's back is turned, Obi-Wan can almost imagine that he sees his lips slowly forming the syllables, like he's physically chewing on them as he's mulling the concept over in his mind. "It is not what I stand to gain, Master Kenobi. It is what I stand to lose. You cannot—_will _not—give me anything. You have made that clear. But, you will find that you can no longer _take_, either."

Take? What could he have even taken in the first place? The last memories of a dead man? Quite possibly. Or, even more likely, a last link to humanity, to a light that Dooku craves, even when he's smothered in the dark. In some ways, everyone is really just like a small child, terrified of the dark, even as they shout into it, daring it to do its worst. That's Dooku. He dares it, embraces it, and wraps it around him, but he can't quite extinguish that last little bit of hope that says the darkness can't get him.

He can lock it away, but he cannot bring himself to extinguish it.

Honestly, Obi-Wan doubts Dooku even realizes the implications.

* * *

"We have a contact in the Jedi Temple."

Right. Well, obviously. Anakin doesn't need Mon Mothma to tell him _that, _and, honestly, why did Padme pick _her_ to brief him? It's not that he particularly dislikes Mon Mothma, but he finds her somewhat stiff and without personality. A bit like a droid, really, and after facing so many of those in war, he appreciates someone who doesn't act like they only have one emotional setting. Sure, that's useful in the face of combat and crisis, but it's not _right—_it's not how people are supposed to be all the , it's just a little creepy.

"I assumed as much," he says, nodding, forcing himself to stay polite. Padme will have his head if he offends her. "May I ask whom?"

She gives a small shake of negation, just enough to slightly unsettle the fringe of hair on her forehead. It's really the first sign of anything being out of place that he's seen from her all day. "Only the very senior members are permitted that knowledge." Then, apparently realizing how that sounded, she adds, "It's not a matter of trust, you must realize. Just prudence. It's—"

He waves her off. "I know how it is." Same as with the Jedi. You don't know more than you need to. Things stay hidden better that way, especially in the event of torture.

Again, she nods, apparently accepting that, and if she shifts a bit in her seat, almost like he's made her somewhat uncomfortable, well, he just pretends not to see it. He can't begrudge her that—it really must be a bit odd discussing tactics of war with a former general, and someone who has seen active combat. Someone you now outrank, even if you have never engaged in a live battle.

"It's good enough to know that we _do _have a contact," he assures her. "We'll need that. We'll need to get someone to that contact, someone carrying a message."

"For whom?" she asks, brow furrowing as he folds her hands in her lap.

Mon Mothma is a smart woman, but, frankly, he's a bit surprised she has to ask. "Obi-Wan."

"Master Kenobi?"

Anakin nods. "He needs to know that he isn't being abandoned. That's always the difference when you're trapped somewhere. If you know help is coming—it's bearable that way. You can focus on that. It gives you something to concentrate on."

She doesn't ask how he knows that, but he can see the question in her eyes… and he doesn't answer it. He doesn't owe anyone except perhaps Padme answers to a question like that.

"I'm not letting him think we've abandoned him."

"Surely Master Kenobi would know better," she suggests, hand settling on the edge of the table where they're sitting. Her slim fingers lightly grip the edge, not so much from distraction, but merely the need to stall. It's the same thing Obi-Wan used to do when he stroked his beard in thought. "He wouldn't believe he's been abandoned."

And this—_this_ is the problem with having people in leadership who have never seen active combat. She doesn't know. She doesn't understand. She _can't_. "Not logically, maybe. But when you're all alone and under duress, I don't care who you are—you start to wonder."

She wrinkles her brow, but at least she nods, accepting that, even if she doesn't _understand_ it. "I will authorize the sending of a message."

Somehow, in some strange way, he respects the way she worded that. She could have told him he was permitted to. Yet, the way she phrases it—it makes it clear that she's taking responsibility… and he knows how difficult that is. In war, people die, and when you command, you make the calls that get them killed. He had many complaints about having to obey Obi-Wan's authority when he was a padawan, but that subtle escape from blame is one thing that he truly does miss. When you're doing what someone else says, it's not your fault, not even if you're executing the plan. And for that—for her refusal to delegate that potential guilt—he finds that, though he faults her for commanding when she does not truly understand war, he admires that willingness to take responsibility.

"I'll prepare the message," he says, nodding.

In turn, she nods too, hands slipping down to fold neatly in her lap as she meets his eyes with a stare that's clear and strong. He's struck by that stare—by how knowing it is. She's brave, he thinks. Brave like Padme, brave enough to face a war that they don't have to be a part of. It's a war that never should have started.

But they will end it. Somehow.

There's no easy answer as to how. And if this goes wrong? It's going to _hurt_.

Regrettably, that's just what war is.

He's learned to live with it.


	31. Chapter 30

**Disclaimer: **I own nothing.

**Feedback**: If you'd be so kind as to leave some, I'll do my best to reply.

**Notes:** ROTS AU.

Scfilover: Thank you!

Booknerd101: Oh, yes, I'm still updating regularly. It just depends on when I have a break in course work.

onesmartgoalie: I agree—it's incredibly sad how they both ended up. And, yes, Obi-Wan on the dark side would be absolutely terrifying.

Mirror and Image: Yeah, the escape effort is building. It's coming kind of slow, but the set-up is crucial for how it all kind of goes down eventually. And, yes, it is finally nice to write Anakin as being really, incredibly competent in the sort of in-your-face-Dooku way. About Obi-Wan having trouble with the Force—that's not so evident yet. But it will be _really _obvious pretty soon when Obi-Wan gets some time alone with only his own thoughts to fight with.

charliebrown1234: Well, I wouldn't want to send you into shock! And I just realized this has reached thirty chapters! Thanks for continuing to read. I really do appreciate it more than you know.

Star the Foxhound: I appreciate a review in any form—it's just really nice to know people want to read what you write, especially considering I just do this as a hobby.

pronker: Yeah, Chapter 30 and this one I'm posting now are sort of setting up for what's going to finally explode. I hope the action will be satisfying. It builds kind of slowly at first, I'll warn—everything doesn't crash in all at once. About Anakin: I really do think, in some respects, he was made for war (good leader, charismatic, excellent pilot, etc). In others, I think it was the worst thing for him. He gets very attached to people and feels things deeply, and seeing a war—I think that does things to someone's mind, especially someone who's somewhat sensitive. I always wondered just how much a part having been through a war played in his fall.

andaere: I like non-angsty Padme/Anakin as well. I think that, if their relationship could have been developed more fully in the movies, it might have been a lot better. In regards to Dooku underestimating Anakin: Oh, he's going to regret it BIG. The rescue scene might go down a little differently than you think, though. Dooku isn't going to accept defeat without a fight. Haha, sorry about making you think! As a college student, I can understand how unwanted that can be at times. :) Huh, do I have anonymous reviews turned off? That wasn't intentional. Thanks for pointing that out.

* * *

Kenobi's contact is still a mystery.

It had to be someone clever, someone he met with during the times he was off planet. Frankly, Dooku would be willing to bet on that unnamed person who killed the guards while Kenobi made his deal during his first foray off planet. All the pieces fit: Kenobi chased, then came back empty-handed but no worse for the wear. He hadn't seemed particularly upset that he had failed to capture the assailant either, and while at the time Dooku had attributed that to the fact that Kenobi wasn't eager to apprehend a man who, in killing the guards, had done what Kenobi probably considered a favor to society in general, he's reconsidering that assumption now.

Clearly, he has overlooked a great deal.

Foolish. So foolish. He is better than this. He is cleverer than Kenobi, better than him at this manner of war. It's simply a matter of noticing the details.

The overlooked can be underestimated, and Kenobi has thus far used that to his advantage.

Not now, however. Dooku will not make the same mistake again.

Carefully, he skims his hands across the desk before him, learning the material with his fingers. It was Sidious's old desk, but Dooku's now. It's solid, high quality, built using materials imported from some inconsequential planet. Only the best for the Supreme Chancellor… the Emperor.

Only the best for _him._

For _Dooku._

He deserves the best, having defeated Sidious, and if he was clever enough to do that, one Jedi should pose no challenge. No, he has simply been too indulgent, overlooking much to do with Kenobi. Perhaps he hadn't _wanted _to see. Either way, it is irrelevant, because he can no longer afford to be blind. Once he has ridded the situation of any threat, _then _he can afford to indulge the memories and associations that Kenobi brings. Once Skywalker is dead, the rebellion gone, and everything Kenobi has to fight for demolished, things will be simpler. Perhaps, then, Kenobi may even realize he has no reason left to fight. He might find an odd sort of happiness in that, Dooku supposes—in not fighting. Not at first, perhaps, but eventually.

Rising from the desk, Dooku ignores the slight protest of his muscles—at his age, his body protests any movement after sitting for too long—and makes his way over toward the large window that overlooks Coruscant. He pauses there, thinking, and staring out at the lights of the city planet.

Kenobi had a contact outside the Temple. He met them while away from the Temple, and at some point he planted a listening device on Dooku himself, then presumably gave that contact access to the information transmitted from that device. However, the first time he had sent Kenobi off on an errand, he hadn't informed him of where he was going until he'd gotten on the ship. Instaed, he had, via comlink message, ordered the men in the hangar to set the course of the ship before Kenobi boarded.

Meaning, of course, that because Kenobi's plans were never conveyed verbally, they hadn't been transmitted through Dooku.

Sighing, he presses a hand to the window and lets the cold of the transparisteel sink into his skin. When he pulls his hand away, there's a mark left behind, though it quickly fades as the cold overtakes the lingering print of warmth his hand left.

Who had informed Kenobi's contact of his destination?

Naturally, he can only conclude that there is someone inside the Temple leaking information. It is the only reasonable explanation. The question then becomes, of course, _who _is the leak?

There are only so many possibilities. It has to be someone who had the information regarding Kenobi's first errand… and not even _Kenobi _had that. There was only Dooku, and the men who prepped the craft for the flight, and—

The men who prepped the ship.

Of course.

Smiling, which, though it's somewhat useless since there's no one to see him, is an indulgence he'll allow himself just for the moment. Yes, this moment is his to enjoy.

That smile doesn't fade as he watches the last bits of lingering warm from his handprint on the window fade away. Nothing but cold is left behind.

* * *

A week later, Padme sits down with Mon Mothma and Bail Organa. Another conference. She has to admit that it seems a little cruel that her husband has just come back to her, and, yet, so much of the time, she's confined in a conference room, discussing. Still, she understands the necessity. So does Anakin.

That doesn't mean either of them likes it.

"Are you certain he's equipped to handle this?" Bail asks tiredly. There are dark smudges under his eyes, and while Padme knows he hasn't been getting enough sleep, she doesn't ask. None of them are getting enough rest, and there's no reason to point that out. Weakness acknowledged is weakness highlighted.

"Anakin knows what he's doing."

And he does. There's proof in the plans spread over the table before them. She has to admit, his plan is clever. He's not trying to wage a full-scale war. This is guerrilla warfare, the sort of strike and run that is more like terrorism than anything. It's enough to muck things up, to distract Dooku, and that is what they need.

In the meantime, they might be able to snag a few key victories, at least during the few times when Anakin does plan to outright engage the enemy. Though, that is more as a rallying point than anything—they are all aware that any location they capture will easily be retaken by Dooku. They don't have the forces to hold back the sort of manpower he has.

Which, of course, is what they hope to change by displaying a rallying point.

"What of other Jedi?" Mon Mothma asks. "Have we located any?"

She nods. "A few. For the most part the only ones that were spared were the ones on missions in remote areas. Those leading clone troopers were largely eliminated, as were those in the Temple. Padawans, knights, masters… younglings. It was an indiscriminate slaughter. But, yes, in answer to your question, a few did survive."

Though her face shows very little, something about Mon Mothma draws up a little straighter—more hopeful, maybe. "Their aid would be helpful."

"Mace Windu, Shaak Ti," Padme lists, skimming the list of names. Their information is incomplete—it always is these days—but they're planning based on what they've got now. It could be worse. "Anakin Skywalker. Obi-Wan Kenobi. To the best of our knowledge, these are the only members of the council who survived. Knights and masters are still surfacing everyday, though. It's possible there's more…"

Bail sighs. "We can only operate based on what we know now. Have you spoken with Master Windu since he hailed me over the secure line?"

Personally, Padme has always found it interesting that Obi-Wan trusted Bail enough to initiate that creation of a secure line. It was only a failsafe, Bail had said, if the Jedi could reach none of their own. Oddly, the Council had agreed that it was prudent to have something of that nature in place.

Now, she's glad they did. It's the only way they've been able to locate remaining Jedi.

"Yes. He's made contact. As soon as he gets off Coruscant, he'll join us."

"It's not easy getting off Coruscant," Bail points out. "Especially not now."

Yes, now that they helped Anakin escape. All transports are monitored. Mace Windu has been hiding in the underbelly of Coruscant, and though Padme hates to think so, she almost believes it suites him. Anyone who met him in a dark ally would no doubt believe he was a native resident. He simply has that aura, that natural ability to intimidate. One look, and most would think better of picking a fight with him.

"It won't be easy to get _on _Coruscant, either," Padme adds, lightly drumming her fingers against her knee. "Getting Master Kenobi out won't be simple. And neither will finding a way for our contact to get him a message."

"Our contact is a mechanic. Surely, he can reprogram a droid to—"

Of course he can. And what good will that do? "You think Dooku won't be watching a droid, monitoring its interaction with Master Kenobi?"

Mon Mothma shakes her head. "It doesn't have to be a verbal transmission. Perhaps, just something he would recognize. Something very small that will convey some sort of message. No weapons, unfortunately, because those would never make it past any sort of security. It has to be something seemingly harmless. Just something to let him know we haven't forgotten him. Skywalker might know something."

"That would mean trusting our contact to do more than funnel information," Bail replies. "What reason do we have to trust him to this degree? To believe that he's capable of covertly tampering with a droid and getting this item to Obi-Wan?"

Bail is right, but Padme can't see much of a choice. They can't get on Coruscant unnoticed. When they _do _go, it won't be a mission where they intend for their presence to go unnoticed. "We don't have a reason to trust him... but we also don't have an alternative. He's risked himself so far. We'll just have to bet on the fact that he won't stop now."

Frankly, Bail looks as though he's just swallowed something very large, and Mon Mothma—she seems only slightly startled, but her disapproval is still there, evident in the pinch at the edges of her lips, in the way she draws up a little tighter.

Padme understands. She does. This plan isn't a good one. There's too much room for failure, and, frankly, it's not even _necessary_—Obi-Wan doesn't _have _to know they're going to try to help him in order for them to actually do so—but for whatever reason, none of those things are enough to convince her they shouldn't do this. They don't have another plan. And Obi-Wan needs to know, because—because he is her friend, her husband's best friend and family, and… maybe she's just too weak to tell Anakin that this just isn't something they should do.

"And how do you propose we even get the sort of item we're talking about to our contact?" Bail asks, hand on his forehead like he's got a headache. "All transports are monitored. All papers are checked, names investigated to insure there's some sort of actual record of the person existing. It takes filing the papers usually a week in advance before someone is cleared to enter Coruscant. If it were somewhere else, someplace less heavily guarded, it might be possible for us to get through with falsified papers, but this—this is just too risky."

"I can do it."

She'd thought Bail and Mon looked shocked before. But that was _nothing _compared to how they look now. Even Mon—who is never rattled—has let her jaw drop, and Bail looks positively floored. "Padme," he begins, shaking his head and holding up a hand, "you can't be serious."

"I am." When she married Anakin, she never thought it would help like this, but… "I'm married, and there are records of it on Naboo. Officially, Padme Skywalker married Anakin Naberrie… and then he took _her_ last name." They hadn't been able to put their real names down. How could they? If they wanted to file the papers, then anyone who ran a check on their names would have been able to bring up the marriage certificate, and for obvious reasons, that was far too risky. "On Naboo, as I'm sure you're aware, it's not so uncommon for people in small villages to live far up in the mountains or deep in the lake country, out of the way and certainly far enough removed that they don't always file records of their people. Anakin and I could pass easily enough, at least on paper, as a young couple who had come to Theed from a mountain village in order to marry. The marriage certificate of Padme Skywalker is a real one… one that will pass an inspection."

Mon shakes her head and swallows. "Padme, someone could make the connection—"

"Who? What inspector is going to know how much time Senator Padme Amidala spent with Anakin Skywalker when those close to us didn't even know? And, if they didn't know the connection between us, why would they assume that the name Padme Skywalker obviously indicates that Padme Amidala had married Anakin Skywalker? No one will connect that. Padme isn't such an uncommon name on Naboo. And Skywalker—well, it's not common, but it isn't unheard of."

Mon still doesn't look convinced. "But you're face is well known—"

"No one knew I was pregnant. And… and I'm beginning to show. That would throw them off. I can cut my hair, disguise myself. We all know I have experience doing that, and if I meet with our contact, it would save us from having to reveal his identity to someone else."

"Those are all logical reasons, Padme," Bail agrees, pressing a finger to his chin and sighing heavily. "But they have nothing to do with your _real _reasons. Please, be honest: why do you want to do this?"

Why? Why indeed. To some degree, she not even certain _she _knows. It's only a nebulas idea—the knowledge that her husband needs his friend, and she can trust no one else with such a delicate task. And Obi-Wan is her friend, too. She doesn't abandon friends… and if this task isn't done competently, it's likely that her husband will try to make a second attempt himself.

And she doesn't want Anakin anywhere near Coruscant.

"I want it done right," she says simply, because she can't explain that this is a way of protecting her husband, and also ensuring that he gets what he needs.

Bail might suspect anyway. Mon Mothma doesn't. She wouldn't. It's not a fault, but she's never been in love—not like Padme and Bail have. They understand what it's like to love another person enough to feel the need to do things for them that don't logically factor out.

Perhaps for that reason alone Bail nods. "All right," he says slowly, dragging the words out as though he's chewing on them, almost to the point where he wants to swallow them back down.

"I disagree. This is not—"

"It is," Bail interrupts Mon. "It _is_ logical. She knows what she's doing. There's no one who could do this better. We sent her to meet with Obi-Wan before. Why not this?"

For the first time, Mon displays a hint of obvious frustration, creasing her brows and frowning. "It's obvious. So much could go wrong! Coruscant is well-guarded, her face is too well-known—"

"A face can be disguised," Padme interjects.

"Not well enough. Padme, as a leader of this organization, it would be disastrous if you were to be captured. This is a foolish decision."

Slowly, Padme turns to look at Bail across the table. He understands—she can see it. How strange that he does, because Anakin won't even understand. Her Anakin doesn't think he ever needs protection, and he would never comprehend what she's attempting to do.

But Bail does. Bail knows why she feels the need to see this done right the first time.

He knows why she feels the need to do it herself.

"Maybe," he says, not breaking eye contact with Padme. "But if I don't give my support, will it stop you from going, Padme?"

"No," she answers simply. It won't. Nothing will.

"Then I would prefer to give you the aid you need."

"Skywalker won't approve," Mon points out, probably as a last attempt to dissuade them.

No, he won't. But she's not the sort of woman who mindlessly does as her husband says. Anakin knew that when he married her. Though, oddly, she thinks Obi-Wan would probably understand her reasoning in this matter better than her husband would. He, like her, understands what it is to care for Anakin—to understand that sometimes caring means going against him.

And she thinks he will understand why she felt the need to do this. He won't like it, but he will understand. Anakin will do neither, and she will accept that, as long as she knows her husband isn't going back to Coruscant… and he won't, so long as his family—the man who raised him—comes home safe. He needs Obi-Wan, and she knows that. They all do… and for all those reasons, she can't leave him alone in the hands of Dooku, not when, just a few weeks ago, her husband was in the same position. It's too much the same.

"My husband is not making this decision," she says slowly. "_I _am."

They—or at least Mon Mothma—want to argue further. She can tell. But they don't. They hold their tongues, and simply stare, and she knows that at least for now, she's won this.

"I'll leave within the day," she informs them quietly.

* * *

When Dooku finds him, the mechanic glances up at him and then hurriedly looks away, so like some scared, skittish creature—so pathetic—that Dooku almost considers sparing him based on scorn alone. But, no, that would be counterproductive. This man is leaking information—it's best to stop that leak by sealing it shut in a way that is… most permanent.

The man glances up again, more frightened this time as he clearly grasps the fact that Dooku isn't merely walking by. There will be no fading into the background today, and Dooku can see in the man's eyes the knowledge that there is only one reason why Dooku would notice a lowly mechanic.

How true it is to say that when a man has something to hide, nearly everything makes him worry that it has been found.

The other mechanics, seeing Dooku's interest, slip quietly away. He does have to congratulate them on their subtlety. The one he's come for tries to do so as well, but Dooku's attention is on him, and no amount of discretion can make him fade away now.

"Tell me what you know, and I may spare your life," he says simply, catching the man lightly around the neck with the Force, not choking yet… but that will come. Oh, it will. He almost looks forward to it.

The man's eyes bulge, wide with fright that's nearly sickness, and his mouth gapes uselessly, not because Dooku is choking so tightly that he can't speak or breathe, but merely because he can't find the words. His mental struggle manifests physically, and his hands go to his neck in panic, gouging his flesh with his nails as he tries to peel the Force away from his neck.

Dooku simply waits.

"Please—" the man gasps.

"Whom are you sending information to?"

"I—I don't know—I don't—please—"

The hangar is clear of mechanics now. There isn't a soul here beside himself and this man. With a bitter smile, he suddenly finds himself thinking that, if Kenobi could comment, he might argue that only one soul is present in this hangar.

How amusing.

"You were sending information to _someone_."

Sweat is beading on the man's brow, and blotches of red are beginning to stain his cheeks. They stand out oddly, given that the rest of his face is paling to a sickly paste color. "Don't know—don't know _who—"_

The trouble is, he probably doesn't. However, someone approached him. He knows _something_.

"Where is the means of communication that you used?"

"Comlink. Secure line. In my bunk. Mattress—u-u-under the mattress—"

The man isn't lying. Dooku can feel it in the Force, and he has to admit, he's almost a bit disgusted. Men like this are such cowards, betraying their cause at the first sign of trouble. No backbone—no _worth_—at all.

Oddly, that makes Dooku look forward to killing him that much more.

"And the password to the connection?"

"3JIX38W1, and then whatever the c-coordinates are… for Coruscant's rotation on that particular day."

Clever. At the very least, those heading the rebellion are not foolish.

"Thank you. I find this information very useful," he tells the man, right before he slips the Force tighter, watching the man's eyes bulge more, jaw cracking as he desperately works his mouth wider, straining for air he won't get. Interesting, how his face slips from red to almost purple, most prominently under his eyes.

And then Dooku lets him go.

"You will report any incoming transmissions to me. Additionally, you will be monitored. Thus, if you do not report, rest assured that I will know," he tells him tersely, keeping pressure on the man's neck. The pathetic coward can breathe, but the pressure is a promise—the best way to remind him of what will happen if he refuses.

He doesn't refuse.

Instead, he nods, backing away from Dooku. His step is shaky, and he seems to jerk, as if movement is too much for him, but Dooku has seen many men faced with their own deaths. Sudden awareness of body—to the point where one becomes so conscious of it that the hypersensitivity turns into uncontrolled movement—is not so uncommon.

"I believe that, even with your pitiable level of intelligence, you can satisfactorily deduce what will happen if you fail to do as a I say."

Again, another nod. He's a coward, this one, and it almost makes Dooku wish for a time when men had more of a spine. Almost. Perhaps, once he's won his endgame, he can think nostalgically about a time when he'd have had a better opponent. For now, he will simply take advantage of it.

* * *

It's quiet in the detention area.

Obi-Wan sleeps often, eats sometimes, and more often than not, meditates. He's not the sort of man who is quickly driven mad by solitude, especially not when there's the imminence of a change in circumstances (and Dooku will not leave him here undisturbed for long, he's certain). It's quiet, yes, but the Force is a friend, and he has to admit, he's never had quite this much time for meditation before, or the occasion to appreciate it. He came so close to never being able to touch the light like this again. He can't forget that.

If not for the fact that he worries for Anakin—about what he's doing and where he is, because Force knows Anakin never stays out of trouble—this opportunity to do nothing but meditate might be pleasant. Though, there is the matter of this being a prison cell, made up of unaccommodating hard metal. It's not overly comfortable, but, then, not much during the war was either.

Comfortable. Hmmm. That reminds him of injuries.

Absently, he rubs at his right hand—the one Dooku broke. The bones were set and knitted back together, but it will be awhile before they're completely right again. Good enough to fight with, but not too good to banish pain. Sometimes, he thinks that's his entire life.

At least he still has his hand. Anakin might tell him that… and be correct in saying it. Comparatively, he has no real reason to complain, at least not about this. Really, his main complaint lies in the fact that he doesn't know where Anakin is or what he's planning. He wants to believe he'll stay away, but some part of him—the part that craves freedom himself—selfishly wants Anakin to come back. Anakin always comes back to save him if he has to… and Obi-Wan doesn't want to stay here.

If he did stay here, what would the rest of his life be? Conversations with Dooku? A miserable life spent as a living tribute to the last shreds of a man who might have once possessed some humanity? Because that's what he is. He's Dooku's last indulgence to an attachment. Nothing more, and because he won't become what Dooku wants, he'll live the rest of his life as he's living it now.

It's not a heartening prospect… and, yet, it's more uplifting than the idea of seeing his padawan dying in his place, in an execution that's no more than a farce.

No, Anakin must stay away.

Obi-Wan prays he will.

Prays, but does not expect. Self-preservation is simply not part of who Anakin is. He loves too much for that.


	32. Chapter 31

**Disclaimer: **I own nothing.

**Feedback**: If you'd be so kind as to leave some, I'll do my best to reply.

**Notes:** ROTS AU.

* * *

batty: Yup, I've heard of that and read parts of it. I have never been able to get through the whole thing.

yellow 14: Or perhaps a fairly quick defeat?

IBG: I went around and around with that—_would _Dooku know? He doesn't know they got married. He's never even seen them together, expect on Geonosis, and given the situation, it would make perfect sense that he was just her bodyguard. I don't know, though—he's a pretty insightful guy. He won't have it cross his desk, so I guess it's a moot point, but it is an interesting idea.

Jothra: I'm very glad to hear that. I have to admit, I enjoy seeing new updates to stories I like too. :)

Random: You know, I have the start of a dark!Obi-Wan fic. Of course, I have the start of like twenty stories, so it's really a matter of which I end up finishing.

Booknerd101: The groundwork for the breakout is going to get laid down. But the breakout itself is going to be a bit… complicated.

onesmartgoalie: Yeah, it kind of does. :(

charliebrown1234: Heh, I'm glad I've made it this far. When I first started writing this, I didn't expect it to be this long.

Star the Foxhound: Thank you on both counts! I'm a little new to video making, but I'm enjoying it.

pronker: Obi-Wan's going to have a lot of contemplating to do in that respect during the coming chapters.

AndrossKenobi: Yeah, I was glad he did too. Poor guy got a really raw deal in ROTS.

* * *

If you get the chance to check it out, I have a new video up on YouTube. This one is mostly Anakin and Obi-Wan. I'm told sometimes the sound doesn't work if you're not in firefox, but it works for me on Safari. So, yeah, I don't know. But I'd love if you'd all check it out.

* * *

Padme doesn't tell Anakin she's leaving. She goes to bed with him like nothing is wrong, and if she's especially passionate, she supposes he will, for the time being, just attribute it to the fact that they've only been newly reunited.

When they've finished, he touches her stomach softly, almost reverently. She's showing a little now, just a small bulge on an otherwise slender body, and Anakin seems fascinated by that, by the fact that there's a little life inside of her that he helped create. He talks to the baby, just nonsense, really, but it makes her smile, and for the first time, she wonders if she made the wrong decision in volunteering to go to Coruscant. Should her obligation to protect this baby override everything, including the desire to keep her husband safe?

Eventually she asks Anakin for something to give Obi-Wan. She just doesn't tell him she'll be delivering it. Seeing the hope spark in his eyes when she tells him that they intend to smuggle in to Obi-Wan whatever he gives her, in order to let Obi-Wan know that someone is coming—it's enough to soothe her conscience for the time being. This is right. She has to do this. It puts her, and, by extension, the baby in danger, yes, but if she doesn't do this, her baby's father will try instead, and if he dies… her child will have no father… and she doesn't know if she can keep anything up without Anakin. She can't do this without him.

She doesn't know the significance of what Anakin gives her. For whatever reason—and she doesn't even really know why—she doesn't ask, either. He seems slightly surprised by that, but he lets it go and leans into her kiss when she moves up to touch his lips, and for the time being, things are forgotten.

Everything is forgotten.

She wonders if he will think of this when he finds her gone in the morning.

* * *

Padme is gone.

When Anakin woke to an empty bed, he'd simply assumed his wife had gotten up earlier than he had. On the times when he was home on leave, she'd done that often, wanting to get some work done before too much of the day passed. He'd simply assumed today was no different, and he'd hauled himself to the shower, then dressed, and only after that had he gone to try and find her.

When he couldn't, he commed Bail… and found she was gone.

She hadn't told him. He understands why, of course—he'd never have let her do this. This—what's she doing—is insane, and even if her reasons are perfectly legitimate, they'd hold for him just as well as they would for her. He's got an alias too, by the same means no less, and he has every bit as much experience disguising his appearance as she does.

"What the kriff possessed you to do this?"

If Bail looks surprised at his language, he doesn't show it. Even more impressively, he doesn't seemed shocked that Anakin is pushing him up against the wall, hands digging securely into the fabric of his shirt. Anakin can feel Captain Typho at his side, trying to pull him back, and it's probably not very _nice_ to use the Force to throw him back, but these fools let his wife go to Coruscant, and he's _angry—_

"She made the call, Master Skywalker," Bail says calmly. His hands rest lightly on Anakin's wrists. "Have you ever tried to dissuade her from doing something?"

"I had no notice. She didn't tell me, and—"

"I'm afraid I had no say in that."

Stupid man. Of course, Anakin is not entirely sure whether he's referring to himself or Bail, because Anakin should have seen that something was going on. He should have. That's not Bail's fault. It's partially his fault that she went, but not that she didn't tell him. It's certainly not Bail's fault that Anakin didn't notice she was up to something.

Disgustedly, he shoves Bail to the side and rakes both his hands through his hair. His leather covered one catches on some strands, pulling them out, but he hardly notices the mild pain.

"Force," he mutters, because, really, _what now_? His wife has gone and run off into a potentially lethal situation, and following her is only going to expose her faster… which she quite obviously knew and worked to her advantage. "Of all the _stupid _things—" Sucking in a deep breath, he makes himself calm down. He's not doing any good like this. Not any at all. He has to think, has to consider what he'd do if this weren't Padme and Obi-Wan, and if his whole world doesn't have the potential to fall apart in one horrible move.

Bail lays a gentle hand on Anakin's arm. "Master Skywalker?"

Anakin shakes it off. "Will she com when she makes it past security?"

Both Typho and Bail nod. "Yes."

"Good. I want Red Squadron prepped and ready to go on my command."

"Sir?" Typho says.

Anakin takes a deep breath, tucks his hands behind his back and meets the gazes of the two men in front of him. "It's a diversion. I want Dooku looking at us and not at who's on Coruscant. But if we attack him before she gets through security, there's a good chance security will just _tighten_. Once she gets there, though, I don't want him at leisure in the Temple while she's delivering something."

"And you don't think it will make it more difficult for her to get out?"

He swallows. This part of the plan he's forming in his head—he doesn't like it. "When she coms, tell her that on the way out, she should steal a ship somewhere. Buy one, even. I'm sure she has credits on her. Then, once we've engaged Dooku, tell her to take that ship to the opposite side of the planet and leave that way. She might still encounter resistance, but it will be minimal in comparison, because the majority of Dooku's forces will be concentrated on us. We'll send in a few fighters to cover her."

Oddly, Bail looks as though he thinks it's a decent plan. Typho seems less sold on it, but after the way Anakin essentially threw him across the room, he's not saying much. Anakin could care less anyway. Typho will agree eventually, because there's no other better way, and he's a smart enough man to see that.

"Dooku is going to know that you were essentially creating a diversion for someone, and he will logically conclude that they tried to make contact with Obi-Wan," Bail points out.

"Let him know it. He already knows I want Obi-Wan out of there. It won't be news to him—we aren't giving away any intentions that aren't already clear."

Typho shakes his head. "But you _will _be giving away the fact that you have the resources to try a great deal sooner than he probably anticipates."

True. That's undeniable, but in this case, Anakin has to weigh the benefits with the costs. He'll blow the advantage of surprise on this, yes, but this is Padme's life, and, thinking tactically, she's one of the leaders of the resistance. If Dooku apprehends her, they're running a huge risk that she'll give him information… or die withholding it. Neither option is good for the resistance… or for Anakin.

Frankly, he's thankful that what's good for him is what's good for the rebellion, because he doesn't think he's ready to make the call when those two differ. Not yet, at least. Maybe not ever.

"I faced Dooku," he says coldly. "I know how attuned to things he is… and I know how fascinated by Obi-Wan he is. If Padme tries anything while Dooku is at leisure in the Temple or even nearby, she runs a sizable risk of being caught. His attention needs to be elsewhere."

Trust in Bail to be the one who questions, even though he agrees with the tactics. He hasn't spoken against anything yet, but Anakin can see in the way he steps forward, shoulders back and chin up that he's going to. And he does.

"And if a call needs to be made to pull out? If it's what's best for this organization, even if it's not what's best for Padme? Would you make that call? Or are you only making this decision to go in at all based on the fact that you love your wife and don't want to lose her?"

Force, Obi-Wan isn't here, but somehow he seems to have possessed Bail Organa and is speaking through him. Anakin would like to punch him… either Obi-Wan or Bail, at least right now. He might hug Obi-Wan after, but this sort of question is one he _loathes_.

However, after the time spent he's spent captive with Obi-Wan, he knows it's one he can't ignore. Obi-Wan would also tell him to let go, but he's not quite at that point, not yet… but at least he'll admit that. That's something, right? Wouldn't Obi-Wan at least say admitting he has a problem is better than just denying it exists?

"I'm making the decision based on the fact that she's my wife," he tells Bail stiffly, but with absolute honesty. He can't fix his flaw of attachment, and that is why those working with him need to be cognizant of his weaknesses. He doesn't want them depending on him in a situation where he can't be depended on… and they deserve to know what that situation might be. "I can't guarantee that I will be able to do otherwise."

If he's not mistaken, he thinks he may see a glimmer of understanding in Bail's eyes, though not acceptance. Not in Typho's, certainly—he appears beyond irritated that Anakin is allowing his personal feelings to muddy his judgment—but Bail just nods, takes a deep breath, and steps back. "That's understood," he says simply. "But understand that if we believe your judgment has become impaired to the point that you are putting our ultimate goal in jeopardy to save one life, we will remove you."

Oh, yeah? Has Bail ever tried to "remove" a fully trained Jedi? He was good friends with Obi-Wan. He went to Zigoola with him. He ought to know just what Anakin is capable of… or, rather, he should know what Obi-Wan is capable of, and in terms of raw power, Anakin can surpass that standard.

Smirking, Anakin answers, "Good luck trying."

"Master Skywalker," Bail says again, more gravely this time, "if you are not capable of approaching this mission objectively as the military general that you are, perhaps it would be best if—"

"I'm the best general you'll get right now, and you know it." At his side, his hands ball into fists. The leather of his glove creaks.

Bail raises an eyebrow, but he hardly reacts to Anakin's temper. "Not if you're ruled by your attachments. And before you disagree with me, consider if you can honestly tell me that Padme's life is worth the freedom of the galaxy."

"I wouldn't try. But—"

"Master Skywalker, she wouldn't want you to sacrifice everything for her. She wouldn't be able to forgive you for that. We both know that she'd rather die for freedom than live at the expense of the galaxy. Do you want her to have to live with the guilt of knowing that you traded freedom for her life?"

Right. That's—Force, _Padme_.

"Anakin, it's not a sacrifice she'd want you to make."

And… he's right.

That just gets to Anakin in a way nothing else has. If she dies, he's pretty sure he won't be far behind, but if that happens, it will just be the two of them dying. He can't pull down an entire galaxy for her. He needs her to live, but maybe this is what Obi-Wan meant by loving unselfishly. Maybe it's being willing to recognize that, in _needing _her, he's being selfish, because that's all about how he feels and _his_ state of living. Being willing to let her go—it's being willing to let his own life go as well.

And when he thinks about that, he knows. Just knows.

He can't trade freedom for her life.

"If it comes down to a choice between her life and the galaxy," he begins, tongue dry and feeling too large for his mouth, "I'll let her go. You have my word."

_Don't let it come to that. Please, don't. Obi-Wan, you were right, attachment is _hard_, but we need it, I still think we do, and I know you do too, even if you won't admit it to yourself. Padme, Obi-Wan, my child._

Oh, Force.

"I will," he says again, the words bitter in his mouth.

Bail just nods and steps out of his path, gesturing for Anakin to lead the way to the hangar to assemble his squadron.

* * *

Padme makes it past security with very little trouble. There are, as Bail suspected, a few raised eyebrows at her last name, but all that really amounts to is a few jokes about the misfortune of sharing a last name with a traitor. Though comments like that make her blood boil, she holds her tongue and simply tries to look embarrassed. She even throws in a few comments about how she's intending to change her name. The security men like that, and more often than not, she leaves them laughing while she walks away wishing they could burn slowly from the inside out.

She does have to admit, though, that public opinion toward Anakin isn't as horrible as it was before he sent that transmission—which was intercepted, as Anakin intended—to Dooku. People aren't condoning what he did, but most people seem to be able to find some sympathy for him when they realize that his slaughter of the sandpeople was precipitated by the murder of his mother. He's still not excused for betraying the Republic, unfortunately. Sometimes, she's completely disheartened by the sheer stupidity of the public at large: why can't they connect that if there was an underlying reason for the sandpeople, there's probably one for a supposed betrayal?

A week after she lands on Coruscant, she's finally cleared and allowed to leave the security facility. From there, she uses up another day taking public transportation across planet—she purposely landed away from her goal so as to draw less attention—to the Jedi Temple.

Upon arrival, she uses a secure line to com Bail… and is told in very cryptic terms of the change in escape plans. She's not terribly surprised, and though Bail doesn't say so, she has a feeling the change in plans has something to do with Anakin. In all actuality, it's more than a feeling. Bail told her there's probably going to be some "substantial confusion" at a certain location, and when it becomes plain where that location is, she should take off on the opposite side of the planet. Where there's a battle—ahem, _substantial confusion_—there's Anakin.

Anakin most likely _planned _the battle.

After assuring Bail that she understands, she wishes him good luck and disconnects.

Then she calls her contact inside the Temple and arranges to meet.

* * *

"Visitor for you, my lord."

Glancing up from the paperwork that he's currently perusing, Dooku observes the young aid at his door. Most likely, he's a leftover from Palpatine's regime, probably someone from a local university who had the misfortune to be interning when Dooku forcibly took power. From the looks of him—a slender, brown-haired human boy who can't possibly be more than twenty standard years—he probably stayed because he feared what would happen to him if he deserted his post and ran. Logical, and smarter than many of his elders.

Dooku leans back in his chair and dips into the currents of the Force. Oh, yes, he wants to accept this visitor. "Send him in," he acquiesces with a slight nod.

The boy keeps his composure remarkably well, giving Dooku a stiff-necked bow before backing out the door. Interesting. Perhaps Dooku will have to promote him. It's something to think about, at least… but later. He has more important things to consider at the moment.

The mechanic is nearly the opposite of what the young aid was: his face is pinched and white, like he expects that he's walking to his execution. If he doesn't stop that irritating habit of wringing his fingers in his shirt, he just well might be.

"Well?" Dooku asks, lightly fingering his pen.

The man gives him a quick nod, then opens and closes his mouth a few times, reminding Dooku of a fish deprived of water. "I… received a transmission, Sir."

How enlightening. As if Dooku believed this to be merely a social call. "And?"

"And—And they want to meet with me."

Yes, now _that _is of far greater interest. "Is that so?" he says, leaning forward and resting his forearms on his desk, prompting the man to take a few steps back. His face is so white now that his mousy brown hair and eyes seem to be the only color left at all. "I presume you have details?"

He nods again, jerkier this time. "Yes. I—I arranged to meet them in the entertainment d-district, in a-a place where no one will think twice. Crawling with criminals, everyone stays out of everyone's business, perfect place—"

Dooku cuts off his useless babbling with a wave of his hand. Personally, he would have preferred the industrial sector, but he won't be choosy. This might just work out for the best.

"You will go as requested. You will engage the contact, and once you are certain they have the information promised you, you will give a prearranged signal, and they will then be apprehended. Am I understood?"

Another nod. Goodness, this man is going to rip a hole in his jacket if he keeps pulling at it so nervously. Frankly, if this is the best the rebellion has to offer, Dooku thinks highly of his chances. Though, he does anyway. No set of disorganized rebels will best him. It's merely a matter of how long they can hold before he snuffs them out. Perhaps, once this situation is dealt with, he will finally give the announcement pertaining to Kenobi's execution, apprehend Skywalker, and question him before he sends him to die in Kenobi's place. Though, he doubts Skywalker will give him much, and at this point, it's fairly irrelevant. The rebellion is only a minor irritant, after all, nothing more.

"Excellent. And the time when this will occur?"

"Tomorrow. 2200 hours."

Well, the man at least had the foresight to set a time far enough in the future to allow for a bit of room to plan. Though, that's likely not due to his intelligence, but rather probably a time suggested by the resistance.

"You are to report back two hours before then. Do not be late. You are dismissed until then."

The man scurries from the room like the vermin Dooku considers him to be. Once this is finished, he will take great pleasure in eliminating the man. How revolting that this is the best the resistance can do. A man like this. How Kenobi even cares to ally himself with them is a concept that escapes Dooku. He could be so much better than those he chooses to fight beside.

And Skywalker.

No doubt, he's entangled in the rebellion. It really is somewhat of a pity. The boy's lack of control is appalling, but he does have undeniable raw talent. Such a waste. If he were younger, Dooku might have attempted to train him, but there's no chance of ingraining loyalty in him now, no matter whether he falls to the dark or remains in the light. Skywalker is his own man, and he bows to nobody. He would only be a liability, and Dooku doesn't think much of making a habit of keeping talented, powerful liabilities alive and breathing, Kenobi being the only exception for… _exceptional _reasons.

Skywalker does not evoke the same reasons.

Thus, though it is regrettable to have to waste all that potential, he must die.

Perhaps he will be the one to come meet the contact. Wouldn't that be fortunate? Unlikely, but Dooku can hope.

Still, whether or not he shows tomorrow, it is only a matter of time.

Dooku has bested him before; he will do so again.


	33. Chapter 32

**Disclaimer: **I own nothing.

**Feedback**: If you'd be so kind as to leave some, I'll do my best to reply.

**Notes:** ROTS AU.

Corni378: Thank you so much! And I'm with you in regards to the slash thing. One, it's just not my thing, and, two, I can't see it when one of the people in the slash pairing raised the other.

Booknerd101: Yes, I guess breakouts are. :) This might be more complicated than most, though. Yes, Padme is meeting the contact—you're not paranoid, just perceptive. And, no, the question isn't awkward—it gave me a good laugh, actually. But the answer is yes, they were.

charliebrown1234: Yes, Obi-Wan wouldn't be pleased. And this chapter features Obi-Wan—he's my favorite: I can't go too long without writing him. :) I'm a bit hesitant to actually admit that, yes, reviews do motivate me, but, alas, it's true. I'm very, very bad about not spoiling surprises (I was the kid who always told others what I'd gotten them for holidays), so the more people who comment on what I've written (especially if they leave comments that let me know they're considering the plot and the actions of the characters), the more eager I am to tell them what happens next. Apparently, even at twenty, I haven't gotten much better about making people wait for surprises.

TheWater'sChild: Interesting that you should mention the clones: they actually will pop up again, and Cody will have a fairly prominent roll.

yellow 14: Very true about Dooku. His reign is just about at an end, though.

Star the Foxhound: Thank you!

AndrossKenobi: I have a feeling you're right.

pronker: Honestly, I had it all planned out how it was going to end! And then one reviewer asked me a question, and I was like, "Huh, I don't really address that. Hey, if so and so did this…" One hundred pages later, the reviewer's question has been answered, and about fifty more things have happened as well. Ah, well.

* * *

So, my apologies with the video I posted about last time. I have an idea how I might be able to get it to work—I'm going to do my best to tinker with it, and I'll let you know if I get it up and running.

In the meantime, I've gotten another one up, this time featuring Han Solo (because, honestly, I just had to make a vid about him eventually. He's Han. Solo. Enough said). It's called "Adding to the Noise—Han Solo" if you'd like to check it out.

* * *

It's the scent of the entertainment district that disgusts Padme most. It's so industrial, with an underpinnings of sweat and heat, rising from the bodies that crowd the filthy streets. Occasionally, you can catch a whiff of perfume, but it's always the cheap sort, and it only serves to make the entire situation seem trashier. Even when it rains, the scents don't wash away, and the water only pools in the streets, steeped full with chemicals that are always oily and cling to clothing until any cloak you wear will be ruined. She can't imagine spending time here of her own free will.

But people do… and because they do, she's been given a place where no one will look twice at her. In times like these—in any time, really—the value of that can't be underestimated.

She's not wearing a hood. Instead, her now temporarily straight reddish locks of hair are tied back, with the exception of her newly sported bangs, which sweep down into her eyes and obscure her features. Her skin is made up to appear a bit darker, too, and her clothes… they're nothing she—Padme Amidala—would ever wear. They blend in here, though, and for the time being, that overrides any sense of distaste that she has in donning this outfit.

Tight and black, her jumpsuit is really little better than a second skin. She feels like some sort of trashy bounty hunter in it, which is really the point, as skanky and illegal are two things the entertainment district is famous for.

Tipping back her glass, she takes another sip and surveys the room over the glass' rim. She knows her query the moment she sees him.

He didn't dress for the area. Though, that's not so unusual. There are always a few people here—the ones from a better part of town who are cutting deals with people they'd never acknowledge in the daylight—who don't look as though they belong. Even from where she's sitting, she can tell he's nervous, all sweating brow and shaking hands, and that fits perfectly with his clothing. First time here, probably. She wishes it were her's, but since this war started, she's gotten more experience navigating the seedier parts of planets than she likes to acknowledge.

"Another, please," she tells the bartender, handing him her empty glass and pushing some credits toward him. He looks at her with a raised eyebrow—she's had three drinks already without meeting anyone or giving any indication that she intends to do anything but stare at the room and drink—but, then, he has no way of knowing that she took a drug especially targeted to the drink she's buying, which, though notoriously strong, is one of the few alcoholic drinks that _can _be suppressed by a drug. She could drink ten and it wouldn't affect her. Not a particularly useful option if you're looking for a good time, which most of the people here are, but especially helpful in situations like the one she's in.

She accepts her fourth glass and keeps watching.

The man sits down at a booth in the back. His eyes nervously scan the room, uselessly, of course, because he doesn't know whom he's meeting. All he knows is the item that he'll be receiving.

The item currently in the pocket of Padme's jacket.

Still, though, there's something odd about the way he's acting. She can't account for it entirely, but his face—there's something guilty about it, and not the sort of guilt that comes from committing an act that, while now considered illegal, one considers to be right. She could attribute his guilt to his misgivings about entering this establishment at all, but one thing her time with Anakin has taught her is that sometimes gut feelings can be correct. Jedi aren't the only ones who have them. Some people are simply good at reading a situation.

She's one of those people—she's been in politics long enough to have to be.

And her instincts are telling her that something about this situation isn't right.

"Excuse me."

The man on the stool beside her glances up at her, then eyes her up and down appreciatively. Obviously, he's more than a little drunk, and from the looks of him, he probably doesn't have many prospects. Men who don't appear to have changed their clothing in weeks generally don't. "Would you mind delivering something for me?"

The man blinks a few times, working to process her request, and she'd wager it only registers partly, because judging from the leer on his face, he's not processing much beyond how her body looks in this cursed jumpsuit. Not as good as usual—not with the bulge the baby is starting to create—but apparently good enough for him. Force, it's Senator Clovis all over again. What she wouldn't give to have her husband present like he was during that particular mission. Though, perhaps it's good that Anakin isn't. He'd probably blow this mission by doing something foolish like punching the man for staring at her.

That particular inclination of his is slightly endearing in an odd sort of way.

"The man I need it delivered to is right here. Just in one of the booths."

The man nods and grins. "You'll be here when I get back?" he asks, slurring his words slightly.

"Provided nothing makes me move," she tells him, already considering where in this club she can slip off to. As drunk as he is, when this man delivers the item, he'll probably point to her location when asked, and she doesn't want to give her identity away until she's sure the situation is as safe as it can possibly be given the place of this meeting.

His grin widens. "Be right back then." With a surprisingly steady hand—clearly, he gets drunk often—he takes the proffered item from Padme after she pulls it out of her jacket—a motion which he watches appreciatively—and gives her one last revolting wink before he heads in the direction of the booth where Padme's contact is.

As soon as his back is turned, Padme casually slips down of the stool and makes like she's going to the refresher. Halfway through the crowd that clogs the floor between the refresher and her previous location, she veers to the side and, acting on years of good training and common sense, heads toward the nearest exit. Best to have a quick escape route. The sheer number of bodies will cover any exit she makes, but she doesn't want to get caught up in them and potentially trapped inside the club if an unseen opponent decides to cut off all ways out.

Once she reaches the exit, she leans back against the wall beside the door, casually crossing her arms and bending her knee in order to press the sole of one foot to the wall. Best to look like she's just waiting and completely uninterested in the scene before her. That's slightly difficult to do while she's fixedly watching a target, but she's confident that she manages.

Quite honestly, she's beginning to understand why Anakin prefers "aggressive negotiations" to clandestine operations. At least when your enemy is shooting at you, you _know _they want to kill you. In a room like this, any of these people could be the one she's trying to avoid. She doesn't even know if she _does _need to avoid someone. It's all speculation.

As she watches, the man slides into the booth opposite her contact and slaps the item down on the table with little care. Her contact looks a bit surprised, but then his face changes, just slightly, and she assumes he believes the drunkenness to be only a cover. He seems a little more accepting, at least, and he nods when the man says something to him… then raises his hand and gives a quick, stiff wave.

That's… odd.

She hardly has time to even begin considering that movement before people are suddenly descending. What she said about any one of the people in the room being the one she's trying to avoid? It couldn't have been any truer. The people grabbing the man she used for delivery—they were just moments before milling around like any other person present. Now, though—_now _they've got out blasters, and thank the Force she didn't go herself. This was a setup. It's all a setup.

And she has to go.

_Now_.

She doesn't have time to feel the sting of betrayal. Yes, her contact betrayed them, but she can consider that later, once she's safely away. Force, she never should have come. This was foolish, but she can't regret it, not even now, because as she's slipping past people toward the exit—good thing she was close, because the crowd has now become a mass of churning bodies, fearful at the prospect of what looks like a sting operation—all she can think of is how, if this hadn't been her, it would have been Anakin. She doesn't want her husband here, not when Dooku is so close, and Anakin _would _have come, because it's Obi-Wan, and that's the sort of man Anakin is. Obi-Wan would do the same for Anakin.

And she would too.

It's why she's here, and it's why she doesn't regret it.

He inspires loyalty, her husband.

Cool air washes over her as she steps out of the club and into the street, falling in with the crowd. She lets them sweep her along, away from where she was until she's just another nameless face in a mass of people. It's such an effort not to glance behind her, to see if she's being followed, but that would give her away. Just keep walking. Just keep going.

She hails an aircab and slips into the back, giving the droid the address of a bar in another area of town. If anyone checks, she doesn't want to go someplace that wouldn't fit with the persona she's currently sporting. No Senate district. No business district. That would only raise eyebrows, and as unlikely as it is that someone is going to look that closely, she knows Dooku, and she knows his attention to detail. She's not willing to risk even the slightest thing if she can avoid doing so.

Only once the cab is safely exiting the area does she allow herself to lean back in her seat and acknowledge the frantic beating of her heart. The way it's slamming against her ribs—it feels as though it's going to break free any moment, and by the Force, she just wants to be home on Naboo, this time with her husband, preparing for the birth of her baby. Will she get to have that when all this is over? Will this _ever _be over?

As quickly as they come, she pushes those thoughts away. It's foolish to think like that right now. Later, maybe, but for the time being she needs a clear head. What happened back there? More importantly, how did their contact become compromised?

Was that compromise made willingly? Under duress? She never had any delusions about her contact being the sort of man who would prevail under torture, but she didn't expect him to willingly become a turncoat. No, he was more than likely discovered.

Inwardly groaning, she briefly closes her eyes and leans back into the seat, then almost instantly regrets it when she gets a whiff of how it smells. Right. Well, she's not here for luxury, and how can she possibly complain when she knows people all over the galaxy have endured much, much worse, often because of this cursed war? And, really, she must be tired if she's thinking so extraneously.

_Think, Padme. How did Dooku connect the dots? How did he do it? _

It's not that simple. She knows she doesn't have all the facts. She can't think like Dooku, not even when she does have all the pieces. She just can't. She's not that cold, and she doesn't want to be… but she does need _answers_.

By the time the aircab stops at its destination, she's no closer to discerning what happened than when the ride started. Entirely frustrated, she pays the droid and steps out into the street, already calling for another cap. This one she'll take back to the place where she's staying, and from there… from there she'll com the resistance and let them know what's happened. Then, she'll get off planet and they'll figure out how to fix this.

* * *

Of all the things Dooku expected, this was not precisely it… and, yet, he's not entirely taken by surprise. He understands intelligence, understands that it's often passed by code, and codes are most easily created between beings who know each other very well. When you have shared memories with another person, anything from the past can convey a message. It's all about the associations that go with items or motions.

"Tell me, do all members of the rebellion send messages this way, or is it only the ones who know each other well enough to pick items that mean something?"

Dooku's voice startles Obi-Wan, who was sleeping against the back wall of his cell, into awareness. It's a tribute to just how long this man has been fighting a war that he's able to shed within a few moments all traces of sleep to the point where there's nothing in his face to suggest that he hasn't been awake for hours. Only a slight jolt when Dooku spoke and the fact that he opens his eyes is all there is to indicate that he was ever asleep at all.

Smiling coldly, Dooku walks to the barrier at the front of the cell and tosses the item in his hand to Kenobi.

Kenobi catches it deftly, and even he isn't good enough to hide the tiny wave of surprise that ripples through him. "Where did you get this?" he asks, eyebrow raised as he brings a finger up to trace the item's surface. It's odd how he does it, like he hadn't expected to see the thing again. Like it means something to him that he _is_, possibly beyond the fact that it's clearly meant to convey some sort of message.

Interesting. Clearly, Dooku guessed right when he assumed the item was meant for Kenobi. "I propose a deal: for every question I answer for you, you will answer one for me. Fail to answer mine, and I will stop answering yours. Understood?"

It's a cold look that he receives in answer. "For now," Kenobi replies, fingers still smoothing over the thing in his palm.

"Now, why don't you begin by informing me of, what, exactly, this item is."

He doesn't want to answer. That much is obvious, and before he even speaks, Dooku is aware that any answer he gets will be an abridged one. "It's a river stone."

Abridged indeed—he has to fights the urge to roll his eyes. Surely Kenobi can do better than that… and, yet, he doesn't seem to be running a stall. Instead, he appears to have truly thought the answer relevant, at least to himself, and from the way he's studying the stone in his palm, that seems to be mainly whom he is thinking to please at the moment.

"Yes, I can see that," he counters dryly. "And its significance would be?"

Kenobi looks up from where he was staring down at the stone, and, slowly, his gaze slips out of memory and refocuses, as sharp and calculating as it normally is. "It was my thirteenth birthday present."

Yes, Dooku can remember the days of exchanging birthday gifts with friends. Interesting, though, that this stone was outside the Temple if it was indeed Kenobi's possession. It either should have been with him or in his rooms.

Not with a rebel organization.

Unless…

"And how did it come to be in Skywalker's possession?"

No sign that he's right. Kenobi's face remains blank, as emotionless as ever. Always protecting Skywalker, even in the details. "And why would you think I entrusted it to his keeping?"

"If it belonged only to you, it wouldn't have made it out of the Temple."

Now, at least, Kenobi gives him a grudging nod, acknowledging what he knows there's no use lying about. "I gave it to him for _his_ thirteenth birthday, just like I received it on mine. A gift passed down from master to padawan for two generations."

It seems that as far as birthday gifts go, apparently the Jedi of Dooku's legacy are a bit lacking. Bestowing _stones _as thirteenth birthday gifts? Skywalker must have been about as thrilled as he'd have been if Kenobi announced some extra meditation. Still, there is some interest to be had in the fact that his own padawan saw enough significance in a rock to give it to Kenobi.

"Before you ask, there's nothing particularly useful about it."

"Oh?"

Kenobi runs a finger over the rock again, watching as the colors swirl under his touch. "Qui-Gon held it sometimes when he meditated. He said it helped him think. It was more of a sentimental gift than anything."

"Skywalker must have been so enthused to receive such a present," he remarks dryly.

Kenobi gives him something halfway between a smirk and a smile. "Not particularly, at least not at first. Once I explained who gave it to me, he understood the significance a bit better."

That's a plausible story. It was the sort of thing Qui-Gon would do. A river stone would fit with his love of the Living Force, and, frankly, he can see his former padawan thinking it would make a nice gift. He never did understand that not everyone was engaged by innocuous things like trees and plants and rocks. Dooku had been fond of the boy, but, still, Qui-Gon had been a bit of a conundrum to him, and Dooku certainly had _not _been appreciative of the pathetic lifeforms that Qui-Gon had insisted on bringing into their apartment. Not everything needed to be nursed back to health, and for Force sakes, a rock was a rock and a plant was a plant, no matter what shade of gray or green it was. The boy had been positively strange that way.

"And I should simply believe you at your word?"

"Don't then," Kenobi suggests, shrugging. "By all means, examine it. You won't find anything. This was only meant, as I'm sure you well know, to enlighten me to the fact that I haven't been forgotten. Rather considerate, don't you think?"

That's not quite the word Dooku would use to describe either Skywalker or his actions. "Certainly. Quite nice of Skywalker to send me advance notice that, at some point, he will make a foolhardy attempt at rescue."

Yes, that gets him a reaction. Kenobi's face clouds, and he looks a bit ill. Clearly, he hasn't forgotten Dooku's intentions. Does he still believe that he can intervene? More importantly, would Dooku allow him to do so if he tried, perhaps offered certain things?

It's an interesting conundrum. If Kenobi did offer to willingly join him, would he spare Skywalker? It's a delicate matter: Skywalker is undeniably powerful, and a liability; yet, Dooku knows the pain of losing an apprentice, and he is willing to admit—it's simply pragmatic to do so—that Kenobi loves Skywalker more than Dooku ever loved Qui-Gon. It would be an undeniably unpleasant experience for Kenobi.

Yet, if Kenobi will not join him, then why spare Skywalker? Kenobi will be uncooperative either way, and Skywalker will only be a problem. In that case, no gain for Dooku exists in allowing Skywalker to live. If there is no gain, there is no value for his cause, and he cannot base his tactics on sentimentality. He has done that enough in allowing Kenobi to live at all.

Kenobi breaks him out of his contemplation. "He's smarter than you give him credit for."

"Yes? Well, then how about a wager? If you are proven right, Skywalker will live. If I am proven right, he dies. Do you still wish to leave the matter entirely in that boy's hands?"

"Is that your way of offering an agreement?"

"I believe that terms could be arranged."

"I won't join you."

A pity that. Kenobi could be so much more than he is. Still, perhaps eventually. Clearly, Skywalker will have to die, and it's possible that the bitterness, anger, and hate may force Kenobi to touch the dark side all on his own.

Though, in some ways, Dooku nearly regrets that. The dark side brings power, yes, but in bringing Kenobi to touch it, he'll be making Kenobi like him... and he is still not entirely certain that he likes what he has become.

Still, it is unavoidable now, and his state can only improve with company, of which his padawan's padawan will be of the good variety. No, Obi-Wan must fall. It is simply the nature of things. Perhaps not ideal, but there is no help for it.

"If you won't join me, then I suppose you'll simply have to hope Skywalker's skills are as impressive as you say they are."

"And if I'm proved right?" he asks, pushing himself to his feet with a nimbleness that Dooku wouldn't have expected after days in a cell. Clearly, Kenobi has still been taking steps to keep himself active, even in his very limited space.

"That's not a question you need to ask."

His mouth stresses into a thin, angry line. "You're right. I already know what will likely happen _when _you fail."

Cute. Though, truly, that sort of retort is more befitting of a padawan than a master. That's not up to Kenobi's usual standard.

He's on his way to devising a clever reply—he does so enjoy these times of verbal sparring—when his comlink chirps, interrupting him. It's an irritating distraction, but it's not as though Kenobi is going anywhere. He'll still be present when Dooku deals with whatever situation his underlings have failed to contain.

"This had better be good," he says by way of greeting.

It's the voice of a clone that answers him. There's no way to tell which, but, then, he doesn't suppose it really matters. They're all the same, little better than droids. "Sir, we're facing an assault by an armed and organized force."

He feels his lips pull tight in a pleased smile. Carelessly, he glances at Kenobi, who has leaned back against the wall, watching—and clearly listening—attentively. Skywalker is earlier than Dooku expected, but still predictable. Perhaps if he's feeling very kind, he will allow Kenobi to give Skywalker a private funeral, or at least see the body. Closure is very important, after all… as is the pain that seeing a body will bring. He doesn't want Kenobi denying Skywalker's death—not when it will be so instrumental in pushing him toward the darkness.

"We are waiting on your orders."

Naturally. "Engage them. Eliminate them, even at the cost of our own troops. Their resources will be limited; ours are not. We have the means to replenish our troops."

If the clone begrudges him the fact that he is regarding it and those like it as no less expendable than droids, it does not show in the clone's tone. He simply gives a sharp, clipped, "Yes, Sir."

"Additionally, send me a contingent of men in the detention area."

Again, just a simple, "Yes, Sir."

Dooku disconnects.

Hooking his comlink back on his belt, he refocuses on Kenobi. Still leaning against the wall, he has nevertheless let a bit of his composure slip. It's only a bare hint—visible in the way he's gripping his elbows with his hands just a little too tightly—but it is enough to let Dooku know that he is nervous. As much as he believes in Skywalker, he knows any man is fallible.

"Take heart, Master Kenobi," he tells the other man dryly, "if your boy truly is the Chosen One, I have no doubt that he'll survive this experience."

Kenobi says nothing. His eyes remain cold and hard, and though Dooku thinks he may be clenching his jaw, it's difficult to tell with the beard obscuring his vision. He doesn't say a word, however—nothing at all.

"Though, you will not be present one way or the other."

That, at least, gains him a reaction: Kenobi pushes himself up off the wall and strides forward, stopping just short of the energy barrier. Now, he tucks his hands behind his back and lifts his chin. When he does that, he makes himself appear taller, perhaps not physically, but certainly in presence. No man in their right mind would underestimate Obi-Wan Kenobi, regardless of his physical height, when he meets them like this. He commands respect. This is the Jedi Master and General. Not Obi-Wan. Not a man who will steer clear of a fight. This is someone who was made, not for conflict, but for resolving it, regardless of the difficulties he'll face in doing that.

"You think that removing me from Coruscant will prevent my eventual escape?" he asks icily.

Put like that, it sounds so childish. Dooku doesn't much appreciate Kenobi turning his words back on him like he imagines he did with Skywalker while he was raising him. The man does have a gift for twisting words to his own use. "I do not intend to underestimate Skywalker. I do not believe that this useless attempt of his will amount to much, but that does not mean I will not prepare for the possibility."

Oddly enough, Kenobi seems pleased with that, as if Dooku has unknowingly offered him material to work with. Too late, he realizes that it's quite possible that he has. "You misunderstand me," Kenobi says, still pleased, even to the point where he smiles grimly. Perhaps" pleased" isn't the right word—"satisfied" may be more accurate. "I don't need Anakin to rescue me. Eventually, I'll rescue myself. Be it from a Coruscant or another planet—the setting doesn't matter. You underestimate not only Anakin, but me as well."

"I think _you_ underestimate _me_, Master Kenobi. I am very good at what I do."

"Hmm. Ventress said the same thing. I do have to wonder whether she reconsidered after I managed to extricate myself from her unique brand of hospitality."

Yes, he recalls that quite clearly. Not only did Ventress neglect to inform him that she had detained Kenobi, but she then managed to be inadequate enough to allow him to escape. Punishing her for that was… most rewarding. It was, as he recalls, a generally satisfactory way to relieve his frustration.

She notified him of all her captures after that.

"As much as I enjoy your spirit, I would ask you to note that, as of yet, you have failed."

Kenobi inclines his head, eyes dancing. He's _enjoying _this, and that irritates Dooku, because in some manner of speaking, it means that Kenobi feels he's winning. That is simply unacceptable. "And, Count, I would ask you to note that Anakin Skywalker is no longer under your control. Who was responsible for arranging _that_?"

Anger snaps through him, white and hot. Skywalker is nothing. Nothing at all. He still has Kenobi, and Skywalker will meet his end soon enough. Still, it is a testament to his self-control that he does not retaliate. No, there is no need—presenting Kenobi with Skywalker's body when the time comes with be victory enough.

"I would ask you not to fight the clones when they come," he says simply, giving Kenobi a simple nod as he turns to go. "It would be useless."

"I suppose," Kenobi calls after him. "And, yet, that's never stopped any of _your _actions."

Dooku has the good fortune of running into the contingent of clones he sent for as he turns into the next hallway. None of the remaining ones ask when he sends one slamming back into a wall hard enough to knock it out. They've long since learned not to question his temper. Apparently, Kenobi is the only one who still feels the need to.

In times like these, Dooku is tempted to send _him _slamming back into a wall. But, no matter. Skywalker is a far more convenient outlet for his irritation.

More importantly, harm caused to him will have far more of an effect on Kenobi than any wall ever could.


	34. Chapter 33

**Disclaimer: **I own nothing.

**Feedback**: If you'd be so kind as to leave some, I'll do my best to reply.

**Notes:** ROTS AU.

Booknerd101: The thing about Ventress comes from the Star Wars Republic comic series.

charliebrown1234: Hmm, well, if I told you that, I'd be giving away how his confrontation with Dooku goes.

whimperling: So true about the parental experience. I'm afraid my mother could probably cite you a few examples when I strengthened those particular skills for her. And, yes, the aggression and need for domination certainly would hint at that—though, I might say more insecurity rather than immaturity. Though, I suppose it could be both.

Torli: Oh, yes, his temper is definitely getting shorter. He expected to have this whole thing in hand by now, and he's most displeased at the fact that he doesn't. Haha, like the comparison to wine.

yellow 14: The stuff with the clones is going to be addressed. I think after all the abuse they've had to take, they deserve some sort of resolution, no?

Star the Foxhound: Oh, no worries, I just appreciate that you take time to leave a comment.

AndrossKenobi: I know some of the last few chapters have been slow, but I felt like it was information that really needed to be added in order to make the next few chapters really fit. Things ought to be picking up now—the actual confrontations are about to start.

onesmartgoalie: He does love very selfishly. Right now, that's his main thing he's got to work out. In this case, though, the issue might be a little more relevant to dealing with losing Obi-Wan.

pronker: Haha, I have to admit, I have a hard time picturing grandparents saying that: mine build stone walls for fun, create trails on their thirty acres, and enjoy being outside. It's hard to imagine anything else.

RebelYellers: No, I don't mind at all. I just appreciate that you take the time to let me know you're reading.

Random: Interesting idea. Perhaps I'll try to incorporate that into another story: the trouble with writing the entire story before beginning to post it is that it's more difficult to take in good suggestions like this without altering the plot.

Onewithoutanaccount: Thanks for taking the time to sit down and read this whole thing! I know it can be a bit daunting, given its length. About Mace Windu: he's still on Coruscant, attempting to find a way off planet. Anakin will throw a fit, but he's not going to be headed for the dark side. His dreams of Padme dying don't occur now because the timeline and events changed.

* * *

Anakin knows when Padme leaves Coruscant. He gets word that her ship is taking off shortly after he gets word that his own presence has been noted by Dooku's forces… which he wanted it to be. He doesn't have much time to consider where she is thereafter: he has his hands full with the battle at hand.

Anakin knew the clones were good. He ought to. He fought alongside these men for _years_. He knows what they do, knows how loyal they are to each other and to their commands. Especially to their commands. That trumps even their loyalty to those they fought alongside. Frankly, he wonders if it trumps their loyalty to each other. Would they all turn and slaughter each other if they were ordered to do so?

Obi-Wan would probably be very cranky if he found out that Anakin enjoys the possibility.

"Power to the forward shields," he barks from his position on the bridge. They aren't truly attacking—at least not with the intention of gaining any specific ground. This is a diversion, at least at this point. However, if they could draw Dooku out into the fight, he won't rule out making it something more. He's long since learned to take opportunities as they come.

He's so drawn into watching as his opponent approaches that he hardly notices when Captain Typho comes to stand beside him. For a moment, when Anakin turns, he expects to see Yularen. But, no, not ever again. Yularen turned on them just like the clones did. He went with his commands. Yularen was never truly his friend at all.

"Status update, Captain?" he says, though he still doesn't let his train of thought end completely. Before Order 66, he'd let himself become friends with those people he fought alongside. He refuses do to that anymore, not in the true sense. He can enjoy their company, admire their military strengths, but he can not assume that just because they have his back in a battle that they will have it in all areas of life. Being his brothers in arms does not mean that they value their relationship with him more highly than their orders. He will not make that mistake again.

"We've successfully engaged the enemy," Typho tells him. He holds himself just as tightly as ever, though Anakin is not surprised. He's never seen Typho relax, and he doesn't expect that he ever will. He's not terribly bothered by that fact—he appreciates Typho's vigilance when it comes to keeping Padme safe, and if he feels the need to maintain that intensity at all times, Anakin won't complain.

"Good. Power to the front shields. We aren't trying to break their lines—just keep their attention on us."

Typho nods, his one eye staring at Anakin. Whether he agrees or disagrees, Anakin isn't quite sure, but he doesn't protest. He simply nods grimly and turns to look back out at the approaching ships.

"At least for now," Anakin adds. For the time being, he's content to let the enemy fire on his ships, to raise his shields and let them hammer away. Just let them keeping looking at him. Not Padme.

But if there's word on Dooku…

"Try to draw them back out into open space, if you can," he adds with only a slight bit of hesitation. What he's thinking—it's a risky plan, but maybe… "Wait until we have word on Padme, and once she's secure, withdraw slowly, act like we're retreating. No, not retreating—limping away beaten." Pausing, he takes a step closer to the transparisteel windows, eyeing the battle before him. Maybe, just maybe, Dooku is overconfident enough to give him the opportunity that he needs. "Make it look like we're beaten. _Really _beaten. We've got three cruisers. On my word, get the men off the last one, and then let the enemy break the shields."

He's not surprised at the look Typho gives him. He's used to people questioning his sanity with their facial expressions. It's a particular specialty of Obi-Wan's, and then there was Mace Windu, whose expression always seemed to indicate that he regarded Anakin's higher cognitive functions as highly suspect.

"Sir," Typho replies, composure still intact, but disbelief—and, yes, annoyance—seeping through. "Our resources are very limited. We can't afford to sacrifice cruisers—"

"If we only ever try to avoid any sort of loss, we can never play to win."

"But, Sir—"

"I want to draw them out. Dooku doesn't regard the rebellion as anything more than a minor annoyance. If he thinks he has a chance to rout us, he'll try and pursue, end any insurrection right here, right now."

"Skywalker, if we let him destroy our cruisers, he _will _end any insurrection right now."

Huh, no more "Sir," apparently. At least the clones were unfailingly polite, even if they thought his plan was unsound. Then again, this is probably his due. He was never very respectful to Obi-Wan when he disagreed with him. Even he can't deny that if he flouted anyone else's military orders like he did his master's, he'd have been court marshaled faster than he could have complained about it. In retrospect, Obi-Wan let him get away with a lot. He's soundly earned any sort of backtalk that he gets.

"Look, if you cut off the head of a snake, the rest of it will die pretty soon after. Draw Dooku out, play on his overconfidence, and you can bet he'll be too busy with that to notice one little fighter that slips in behind him."

Typho blinks his eye. That's a bit disconcerting—good thing Anakin has gotten used to odd injuries. "You can't possibly be suggesting—"

Hmm. Yularen is gone, but Typho is apparently doing his best to sound just like him. Is this what he does to all his subordinates? Makes them turn into men who feel the need to temper his rashness with a good dose of conservatism and restraint? Really, that would explain why Obi-Wan always acted so stable. When Anakin next sees him, he'll have to be sure to let Obi-Wan know he owes his caution and reason to Anakin and his antics.

"In order to pursue our contingent of smaller fighters, they'll have to open to let their own fighters out. That's all I'd need. Just a way in."

"And if you fail? One man can't fight his way to the bridge and destroy an entire fighter!"

"I don't need to destroy an entire fighter. I just need to destroy the bridge of the cruiser. Then, once I leave, our ships can destroy the cruiser."

"That's only one cruiser! And the others? What about those? This can't work."

Yeah, like he's never heard that before. "Look, you take out the command cruiser, the rest will have to fall back. You can't deny that. It's simple strategy. Take out the leader and the rest have to regroup."

Typho rubs a hand over his forehead, scrubbing so hard that his palm leaves a red mark. Frankly, Anakin is probably raising the man's blood pressure several points per minute. "And what will that accomplish? You haven't gained any ground. They can rebuild cruisers easily. We can't. _You _can't deny that. Why waste our limited resources just to destroy their unlimited ones?"

Why, indeed. And that—that is the part of his plan that will be difficult to convince others of. What's he's proposing—it runs only on instinct, and even if his instincts turn out to be right, he still might fail to defeat the man those instincts could lead him to.

"Because I think Dooku will be on that ship. And if we can capture him—"

Typho doesn't even deign to let him finish. In many ways, Anakin doesn't blame him. He knows he sounds mad. He truly does. Yet, in some odd way, he's very used to it. Most of his plans in the Clone Wars were risky, and, yes, sometimes they failed, but that's _war_. You fail in war… but when you win, everyone forgets that you failed. They forget how foolish you sounded and concentrate on how well your tactics worked.

So, he'll just have to win.

"You cannot run such a high risk on the _hope _that Dooku will be aboard that ship! You can't guarantee that! And, if he is not, you have wasted valuable resources—"

All valid points. If one were to make a list of the pros and cons pertaining to his plan, no sane person would gamble everything like he's about to. No one would risk so much on a feeling—on a _hunch _that Dooku will want to personally be there to rout Anakin's forces and, potentially, capture Anakin himself.

"And if I am right, I can end Dooku's tyranny right now. It's worth the risk. Prep my fighter."

"Skywalker—"

"You have your orders, and no matter how much they're probably going to regret it, Organa and Mothma gave me command. At least for this battle. That stands until I die or am removed from my post. So, you have your orders. What are you waiting for?"

And though he obviously disagrees with every ounce of his being, Typho can't ignore that. You don't disobey your superiors in war, no matter how crazy you think they are. Just because Anakin made a habit of it with his master doesn't mean—well, it doesn't mean that it should be done, or that it can be done and gotten away with when the person isn't someone who has emotional reasons not to want to see you tried for insubordination.

His orders stand.

And though Typho looks disgusted as he gives the commands, he _does _give them, and in Anakin's mind, that is all that matters. They can think him crazy if they like. Some days, he wonders himself. But he gets the job done, almost every time, and he's accomplished that too often by following his instincts to want to abandon that course of action now. People like his results; they'll have to put up with his methods.

An hour later as he watches one of his cruisers break apart, courtesy of the fire laid by the enemy—and what does he call the enemy forces now, anyway? Separatist? Empire? Completely Corrupted Republic?—he keeps hoping this call was the right one. Because if he wasn't right? The backlash from this will be _unimaginable_. Quite honestly, it will probably be the really inglorious end to his career.

Twenty minutes after that, as the enemy forces press after them, trying, as Anakin predicted, to end things soundly, Anakin slips into his fighter and gives the order for another squadron to join him. They'll attack like this is a last desperate attempt, and the enemy will—he hopes—send fighters out to engage them ship to ship. That's not such a risk. His opponents have plenty of men to spare. If they want to take out the rebellion's smaller fighters, they'll have to send some of their own.

Still, he can't deny being a bit relieved when they do exactly that.

"Gold squadron, form up around me." The last time he did this, it was with Obi-Wan. Obi-Wan was Red Leader, and at the time he remembers being a bit disgruntled that Obi-Wan got to lead the squadron, but now he'd give just about anything to have his master here with him, giving him orders and making him occasionally feel like he has all the common sense of an initiate. He'll be forty and Obi-Wan will still be doing that. It's just who they are.

"Copy that, Gold Leader."

They form around him, covering him, and obscuring his position as the obvious leader. That's not what this is about. He's leading, yes, but he doesn't want to be noticed. Not yet. For now, he just needs to get close enough to—oh, yes—and here he _goes_—

He yanks the controls hard right, goes just to the edge of what would push him to spin out, and cuts in front of the incoming fighters who are, as he expected, coming from the cruiser in front of him. "Your show now, Gold One," he barks as he streaks through the fighters, buzzing a couple closely enough that he knows he has to have rattled the pilots. Those are clone pilots, too, and for that—for old times' sake—he doesn't go _out of his way_ to shoot them down.

He hits three anyway.

Old comrades or not, he won't forgo an opportunity to shoot down someone who's currently trying to shoot down _his _men. By the looks of the markings on their fighters, they aren't his old squadron anyway, though that certainly would be justice at its best.

Forcing his mind to stay sharp amidst the distraction of the fighters, he zips past them and shoots down into the hangar just as the last of the fighters exit it. With practiced fingers, he throws off his straps, grips his lightsaber—a spare that Bail apparently got from Obi-Wan for some reason Obi-Wan never shared—and moves to open the cockpit.

As soon as he does, a wave of noise assaults his ears.

It's always like that. Inside the fighter, noise is muffled, and once it springs open, it all rushes at him. So does the blaster fire from the men still in the hangar, and that is far more important than any increase in sound.

There is some advantage to be had in the fact that he knows how these men fight. Some, but not enough. The Jedi Temple was taken down by sheer numbers… and he will be too if he stays to fight.

So, he doesn't.

Deflecting a barrage of blaster fire, Anakin sprints for the hangar exit. They're furiously working to close the doors, lock him in, and if that happens, this mission will be over before it even starts.

Diving, he manages to roll under the door just before it closes. How cliché. Someday, he'll make it with time to spare, and then he'll _really _laugh.

For now, he just takes off running down a hallway.

* * *

Obi-Wan hadn't exactly been under the impression that the Temple detention center was the _worst _that he could do. After all, he's slept in muddy trenches during the war. Better yet, he's slept in muddy trenches with _Anakin_, who kicks in his sleep, even under the best of circumstances. Four-foot wide trenches on a muddy, rainy, cold planet where they had to huddle together when sleeping just to stay warm didn't improve his former padawan's ability to share a sleeping space, either.

Still, past experiences or not, Obi-Wan isn't quite thrilled to, upon waking, discover his new accommodations. It's not that they're intolerable—they're actually quite nice as far as detention centers go—and, really, that's what he dislikes. Comfort means this doesn't promise to be a short stay.

Of course, his new quarters aren't exactly 500 Republica, either. He's got a bed, big enough to easily accommodate him, and soft, too; a table and two chairs; and even a fresher in a small room off to the side. As far as prisons go, it's really quite comfortable, but certainly nothing extraordinary under normal circumstances.

Unfortunately, its cold gray walls leave no doubt in his mind that it _is _a prison. If there _were_ a question, the door that's little more than a sliding panel with no handle or means to open it gives him a firm answer. There's also the fact that he has no notion of where he is—not that he had expected anything else. After the clones held him down and sedated him, he hadn't anticipated he'd be getting many answers.

Sighing, he leans back on the bed and stares up at the ceiling, hand clenching around the river stone that's hardly left his hand since he arrived here. The ceiling is gray, just like the walls. Just once, could they make them a calm, soothing yellow? Perhaps a gentle green? Even a soft beige would be lovely. Anything other than metal. It's so redundant and boring… and, though Obi-Wan expects that someone who's never been held captive wouldn't understand, he has to admit that a good deal of being held as a prisoner _is _boring. Once you master how not to fixate on what your captor plans to inflict on you next—far easier said than done, especially in the hands of someone like Ventress—most of the time is passed having no one to talk to, staring at nothing, and generally trying to reexamine any interesting thought or notion you've ever had.

The problem with this is that _interesting _does not necessarily mean _happy_. It's very easy to become depressed in a situation like this, when he has nothing but his own mind—his own insecurities—to constantly reexamine. He knows this, and, yet, when he reaches the seventh day with no human contact—meals are slid in through an otherwise unopened slot in the wall—he feels the beginnings of depression pulling at him. He's been trained to resist this, and by all rights he should be able to, but the feelings slip in with logic, with the idea that it's all right to dwell on these things, because to ignore or not acknowledge them would be to try to deny his mistakes. That would be pride. He needs to be aware of his faults. There is also some conviction to be had in the fact that he is not concentrating on how hopelessness escape is, or on his enemy's next move. He is merely evaluating his errors, discerning how he can improve. It's all very logical.

And it hurts.

He is here, and there is nothing he can do at the moment to change his circumstances. And, yet, might he have possibly _prevented _them? There are so many things he could have done differently, and he _knows _he shouldn't give into this kind of thinking, even if it does seem logical, but it plays at the edges of his mind, inviting him in a sadistic sort of way that shouldn't be inviting at all, but somehow is.

And, against his best judgment, he finds himself giving into it.

For him, it all comes back to one point.

If he hadn't fallen that day on Naboo—if he'd been just a bit quicker, a bit more skillful—he could have faced the Sith by that melting pit with Qui-Gon. His master would not have died. His master would have trained Anakin, and Qui-Gon's death would not have given Dooku that final push toward the dark side.

He's not naïve enough to believe that Dooku abandoned the light because of Qui-Gon's death. No, there were other factors, he is sure. A fall like that is always so complicated, and attributing it to one thing would be arrogance, an overconfidence in his own reasoning skills.

However, if Qui-Gon had lived, things could have been very different. Qui-Gon would have sensed Palpatine's less-than-altruistic motives, he's sure, and even if he hadn't, he still wouldn't have allowed Anakin to spend so much time with the man. Obi-Wan hadn't felt entirely comfortable letting him do so, but he'd been insecure, doubting his own capability as a master, and it had been the _Supreme Chancellor._ What right did he—a Jedi Knight and master to the Chosen One who was only either of those things because his master had died—have to refuse to let his padawan see the Supreme Chancellor?

Every right. He'd had every right. He'd simply been too insecure with himself to recognize that fact. For that—for not being the master he should have been for Anakin—he can blame no one but himself.

It's the same sort of failure he experienced when he wasn't good enough to duck that blow from the Sith apprentice, to not get knocked off that catwalk and separated from his master…

When he was one moment too slow to reach him…

When if Obi-Wan been a little better, Qui-Gon might have lived.

Force. Everything could have been so different. So many mistakes were made, and while he made his share of them, others made them too. The Order should have handled Anakin differently, seen that he was a special case and couldn't so easily conform to their rules. Qui-Gon should never have told Anakin he was the Chosen One—no person deserves that burden. Yoda and the Council should not have allowed him to be the one to train Anakin. The entire Jedi Order should not have been so blind to Palpatine—to what was in front of their faces for so long.

So many mistakes. He's still making them, and how long has it been since he's had someone to guide _him_? Force, he's never stopped feeling the ache of his master's absence, but now—right here—it's pronounced like it hasn't been since those first few weeks after Naboo.

"I _did_ try," he whispers to no one, eyes still fastened on the ceiling, hand clenched around the stone. It doesn't feel as warm as it usually does. "I just—I wasn't ready. Not for any of it. And I was the wrong master for him anyway. The wrong person to try to teach a boy who knew the deepest sort of attachments to release those things. And, honestly, I don't—I can't even say if he's _wrong_."

Oh, and he can't say. Anakin loves like no one he's ever met, and when that's pure, how can it be wrong? Why is allowing attachments any more dangerous than the coldness that can set in without them? Everyone forms connections—wouldn't it be better to acknowledge them and deal with them in healthy ways, rather then to force people like Anakin to hide them?

He doesn't know. He doesn't. Not about any of it, and in some ways, he's never stopped feeling like an inadequate padawan, worrying that it's possible his knighting was all just a mistake.

"I'm sorry," he murmurs as he turns over and presses his face into a pillow. Right now, he doesn't feel like a middle-aged man. He can hardly believe he's a Jedi Master with a grown padawan of his own. Right now, he feels like a child who has lost his way, and who wants a master to pull him back, to tell him life will somehow be all right again. That what he's done—that it doesn't—doesn't— "I killed for him, and I'd do it again."

That man who killed unarmed, defenseless beings? Is that really _him_?

The man who killed those Separatist leaders. Force, he _killed _them, and it wasn't a war context, it was a _slaughter_, and they were unarmed, and—

He can't think on it. Doesn't want to.

But he is. He's seeing what he didn't see then—what he blacked out for. It's—he's forced it away, forced it down, and he knew it couldn't be forever, but he doesn't want to see it _now_.

_Help. Stop it, stop it—_

Heads rolling; a lightsaber slicing through flesh; the sickening smell of cooked meat; grown men wetting themselves in fear; bodies falling haphazardly to the ground; and him, eliminating unarmed living beings. _His_ hand, _his_ lightsaber, _his_ murders, and him, standing there in the midst of it all, looking at the carnage, at the lifeless eyes and dismembered bodies. The smell—Force, that _smell_, bodies baking under the sun in the arid Utapau climate, and he must have stood there like that for at least an hour before Padme found him.

Oh, Force, the _smell…_

Afterwards—when the flashback is done—he wakes up on the bed, sheets twisted around his body, which is awash with sweat. His hair is drenched with it, and his clothes are soaked through. And he's crying… or he thinks he is. His cheeks are damp and his throat hurts, like it did when he was small and had a nightmare.

Worse, he remembers now. Everything about that day… and the knowledge is agony. Every cry, every strike, everything up until Padme found him standing in that mess of bodies.

He barely makes it to the refresher before he vomits.

The river stone remains tightly clutched in his palm.


	35. Chapter 34

**Disclaimer: **I own nothing.

**Feedback**: If you'd be so kind as to leave some, I'll do my best to reply.

**Notes:** ROTS AU.

Mreeb: I feel like you're exactly right about Anakin—if he wasn't struggling with the dark side to some degree, he wouldn't be in character. I think someone with that much power is always going to have to struggle. About the contact: I didn't write it in, but I just assumed Dooku would have him killed. Probably the guy who delivered the river stone too. It's not like he's real hesitant about killing. And Obi-Wan? I would like to hug him too.

yellow 14: Anakin is basing everything on a hunch, yes, but, luckily for him, his hunches are often pretty good. About Obi-Wan's cell: I never even thought of that. But even if there's nothing external prompting him to focus on his thoughts like that, I think it's pretty consistent with someone in solitary confinement. It's the sort of thing that drives people mad. They usually either go for self-blame of revenge, I think: look at the Count of Monte Cristo… *shivers* (that used to give me nightmares).

Booknerd101: Oh, yes, Anakin is a bit insane. I think he embraces it.

pronker: That's a very good point. I don't think Obi-Wan is the type who will intentionally commit suicide, but if he just happened to get caught in the line of fire… yeah, Anakin is going to have his work cut out for him.

Onesmartgoalie: Very true. The thing is, though, he's got to actually deal with it, aka process it and stop trying to run from it, hate himself for it, etc. Much easier said than done.

charliebrown1234: He _is_ in a tough situation, isn't he? I think the fact that he'd do it again is what he can't forgive himself for. He's very sorry, yes, but how far does that go when he wouldn't take it back even if he could? In his mind, not real far.

Mirror and Image: Oh, yeah, Anakin is going to have some work to do. Padme as well. No ghostly appearances by Qui-Gon—the rock is, though, a symbol of what Obi-Wan is clinging to. Poor guy wants what he hasn't had since Qui-Gon died: someone to actually take care of _him _for a change. About the skip in time: it's one of those things that, when you read the chapters together, doesn't show up, but when there's a break, it does. In other words, Anakin's timeline hasn't skipped ahead yet.

* * *

So, this update ended up being a little bit longer than I expected—there was no good place to cut it off. I know that will break your hearts.

But, yes, I'd say this finally tips this story over in the direction of a resolution. That's not to say the story is incredibly close to being done… but just that it's heading in that direction.

Enjoy.

* * *

Anakin was never one to stay put. Padme knew that about him, but in this particular situation, she thought she'd outmaneuvered him well enough that he wouldn't have a choice: by her going to Coruscant, she had intended to keep him from doing something like this.

She should have known. Anakin _creates_ choices if he doesn't like the existing ones, and if she tries to stop that process, it only leaves him with fewer options, which prompts him to make _worse_ choices.

"He can't have been serious!" she snaps, staring blankly at Typho. She is perfectly capable of understanding what he's said—Force knows that after having to decipher the blathering of countless long-winded politicians, Typho is no challenge—but somehow, it's not registering. Surely not even Anakin would try something so reckless, something so entirely based on luck and a purely speculative hunch.

"Unfortunately, he was," Typho replies with a small scowl. Crossing his arms, he glares off across the bridge, ignoring the fact that she'd rushed over here immediately after docking. No. He's got all the time in the world to stare off, quite literally, into space. Right.

That's not fair. She knows it's not. Typho is trying his best, and he's as frustrated as she is.

It doesn't help her levels of annoyance that she'd he'd hoped to see Bail and Mon, but they had remained at the base. Certainly, it's a strategically wise move: committing so many important leaders to one area would be a risk they need not take. She'll com them shortly.

"And we—have we heard from him?"

"No, my lady. But, then, I wouldn't expect to."

No, of course not. The mission he's undertaken is clearly not conducive to being able to call up one's comrades to chat.

Furious—at Anakin for doing this, at herself for not seeing that fact that he _would_—she cross her arms and stalks over to the viewport. "Do we have any update on his progress?"

Typho joins her. "Gold Squadron reports that he successfully made it on board the main cruiser."

"How long ago?"

"A quarter of an hour."

"Nothing since then?"

Typho sakes his head. There's something sympathetic in his face, but he doesn't voice it, and for that she's thankful. Typho is a dear friend and a constant protector, but there is something in his strength that is catching, and she doesn't wish to discuss something so personal as her worries for her husband. It's easier to keep things analytical.

"Do we know if Dooku is even on that cruiser?"

"No."

"Then, I suppose, we'll know nothing until Anakin has something to tell us."

Or, as neither of them says, until Dooku has a reason to tell them otherwise. She'd rather not even consider that option. Anakin has always prevailed before, at least well enough to keep his life, no matter what situation he found himself in. Force, though, did he have to do things this way? She could slap him for this. She really could, but on the outside she retains her composure, and just nods to Typho, trying not to show how intensely worried she is.

_Anakin, I love you, but some common sense and self-preservation would be _wonderful.

* * *

Dooku doesn't need confirmation to know that Skywalker is heading up this battle. He's watched every bit of it from the bridge of his command ship, and it practically drips of Skywalker's signature, ranging from the fact that the rebels are risking much by instigating it all, right down to the tactics they're employing. Even retreating, they're still mustering something of an offensive. They've lost, yet they refuse to acknowledge it.

Skywalker couldn't have left his imprint on it any more clearly if he'd consciously tried.

However, for all of his impulsivity, Skywalker is no newcomer to military command. He's a general in his own right, and, as grudgingly as Dooku admits it, he has earned it. The boy is a good commander and a good strategist.

As such, Dooku does not for a moment believe that he's simply retreating. He will have a plan in his retreat, some sort of final strategy.

Of course, at the moment, Dooku is rather inclined to think it's exactly what it looks like: Skywalker attempted to draw the opposing forces out with the intention of gaining a superficial victory as a rallying point. He must know that it will be strategically useless: Skywalker doesn't have the resources to hold any ground he gains. He can kill and kill and kill Dooku's forces, but Dooku can afford to lose, because he can replace. Skywalker cannot.

Still, Skywalker's intention to garner support is a sound plan, and, if he won, it might gain him some allies. However, the resources and allies he has at his command for _this_ battle are proving too few. Even now, one of his cruisers is quickly succumbing to the barrage of fire it's enduring. As Dooku watches, it splinters under the shots, parts breaking off and scattering haphazardly into the space around them.

Though Skywalker's efforts are admirable, it will clearly not be long before this battle is won.

Dooku's comlink sounds.

Reaching down for it, he unclips it from his belt and brings it up, expecting to hear good news. He lets himself smile now, enjoying the solid feel of the device under his fingers, and, more importantly, reveling in the anticipation of what it will tell him. Perhaps his troops are awaiting their final orders. Perhaps, if he is very lucky, they have even captured Skywalker himself.

"Yes?" he asks shortly, still staring out the window. Flashes of light rip through the black of space, tearing it for seconds at a time until the dark stitches itself back together. Even then, though, the black remains marred with parts of broken ships and other debris.

"Skywalker is onboard," a clone's voice answers him.

Certainly, this will be a day worthy of celebration. He has earned this, has been patient, and though the strategic significance of capturing Skywalker is indeed large, he finds himself far more gratified by the personal victory this represents. "Excellent," he comments, leaning back in his chair and closing his eyes, allowing the image of the battle, of how Skywalker must have seen it also, to polish his pride. They both observed the same fight, and to know that the scene that is bringing him such satisfaction must be wracking Skywalker with a sense of failure—it's most heartening. "Bring him to me."

"Sir, you misunderstand. We haven't captured him."

Snapping up straight, his fingers clench at the comlink until the bones of his hand creak in protest. All appreciation vanishes, morphing into nothing more than a series of attacks and strategic operations, a far cry from the picture of satisfaction that this battle was a moment ago. Any foolish man can light the sky with shots. However, he should have been more, should have been better. The culmination of those shots should have won him the war.

"How did he get on board?" he asks, voice dropping. He can hear the ice in his own tone, and he hopes this man can too. It may serve as a promise of what's to come if Skywalker isn't detained. He refuses to lose at this, and he holds those under him to an equally high standard. They will not fail in this, or Dooku will insure that they never succeed again.

"We had to lower the shields to allow our own fighters out—"

And Skywalker managed to slip past when they did. Clever. Very clever. Still, it won't be good enough. If these useless fools can't detain him, he will best Skywalker himself. There is a chance it may even be pleasant. It certainly was the first time. Oh, he won't kill him, though. That must wait until later, when the galaxy watches.

This is for the best, then. Better that he himself has the honor of besting Skywalker, rather than simply having the boy brought before him, already defeated.

"Do not stop him."

Stunned silence, and Dooku can all but picture the clone, straight faced, revealing nothing, but nonetheless confused by the order. However, it will not question, at least not beyond the simple, "Sir?" that next crackles across the comlink.

"I will deal with Skywalker myself."

* * *

Dooku is here. Anakin can feel it. His presence lingers on everything in the proximity, dark and oily, choking the life out of whatever it touches, but beyond that, Anakin can simply _see_ it. There's nothing to see visually, but the Force draws him, whispering its knowledge and nurturing the instinct that brought him here in the first place. No other living being could understand how that happens, but it's always been like that for him: the Force speaks to him in ways that it doesn't for anyone else. He simply feels life differently, and when he listens, it's beautiful. Sometimes disturbing, but always beautiful in its own way.

He's close now. Close to what, it's difficult to say, but something slips along his spine, just a feeling, the sort he's never stopped getting. It's like the waking version of his prophetic dreams, but whereas the dreams are always bad—always terrifying—this feeling is a chance for comfort, depending on what he does with it.

_You have a chance_, it whispers in a language that's not a language at all. _A chance to end this all_.

Once, he remembers Obi-Wan telling him that the Force clung to him, adoring him in ways he'd never seen. Anakin hadn't understood quite what that meant, especially since he'd known that Obi-Wan wasn't referring to the Force as a deity. It is certainly something that guides them, that knows the best of all ways and, if heeded, can direct in that manner, but it is not a deity. It does not love in the traditional sense.

Now, though—now, as he slinks down hallways where he expects to meet resistance and sprints down those where he does not, he thinks he understands. The Force saturates him, more than any other Jedi he's ever met. For him, that is simply life—it is _normal_. But, as he thinks about it, it strikes him that it is only normal to _him_. Obi-Wan has never felt this. Dooku has never felt this. Even Yoda has never felt this.

They have no felt this _much_.

The Force does not cling to any other Force-sensitive in the way that it does to him. It does not play along their nerves at all times, like a constant hum, for good or bad; does not haunt the corners of their mind, always whispering, always hinting. It does not, on occasions like this, feel so present to him that he cannot imagine a self—_him_self—without it.

He is the most powerful Force-user that the Jedi Order has ever seen, and Dooku has underestimated him, simply because he doesn't understand what it is to be Anakin Skywalker. He cannot estimate what he does not care to have a true concept of.

Dooku does not care to know, because he despises Anakin. Again, his pride is his weakness.

And Anakin can feel him.

"I know you're there," he says softly as he pulls to a stop in the middle of the hallway, waiting.

Anakin does not turn around. It's clever of Dooku to wait for him in a hallway, rather than in a main room. It's not so expected here. Dooku's covering his presence well anyway, but the spark of danger, greater than any he'd get from a clone, draws Anakin's attention. He doesn't really think Dooku is truly trying to avoid detection anyway. He only wants to make it a little less than obvious.

"Give yourself up now, Skywalker, and I _may _decide to spare your life."

Yeah, right. "Only 'may'? I _may _also win this duel. If the odds are the same for both options, I think I'll stick with the one where I have some say, thanks."

Now, Dooku steps out from behind the corner in front of Anakin. In the shadows of the corridor, he seems harsher, perhaps even a bit younger. The industrial, man-made aura of a military ship suits him, Anakin thinks. Anything harsh does, really, and the metal is as cold as his eyes.

Somewhere along the line, Dooku has discarded his cape, and though his lightsaber is already clasped firmly in his hand, it isn't yet ignited. Anakin has no illusions about that: it in no way means that Dooku isn't ready or isn't anticipating his next movement. On the contrary, everything about him is anticipatory: his gaze rakes over Anakin, accessing, and the lines of his body adjust subtly, waiting for whatever his observation has indicated is to come.

Anakin isn't sure what he found. Right now, he hasn't quite decided what his first move is going to be. He kind of likes it that way. If he surprises himself, he surprises his enemy. The only way that tactic won't work is if the enemy knows his fighting style as well as he himself does: if his enemy knows his mind so well that he can predict what Anakin will decide to do before he makes any decisions.

No one but Obi-Wan can fight him on grounds like that, and, honestly, it's the only reason Obi-Wan can still beat him. They both know who the better fighter is—the one with more raw talent.

"Clever quips don't amuse me, Skywalker," Dooku informs him dryly as he edges forward, sizing the situation, evaluating. He's good because he thinks. Anakin knows that already. "And neither do you. Surrender."

Anakin's fingers flex around his lightsaber, caressing the metal that's warmed under his hand. It feels so natural, like an extension of himself.

_This weapon is your life_.

"Funny. I was going to offer you the same option."

Now, Dooku ignites his blade. This time, the movement is not as showy as it was on Geonosis, though Anakin has only vague memories of that, having been, ah, _sidetracked_ by a nasty encounter with Sith lightning. But no need to dwell on past mistakes. He won't make the same ones twice.

Slowly, Dooku stalks closer, every step confident. He expects to win, not easily, perhaps, but still to win. He sees, Anakin knows, a mere boy before him—young, impulsive, and still a child where it counts—and he's sizing him up in terms of a body bag before the fight has even begun.

"You couldn't defeat me before, Skywalker, it's unlikely—"

"Oh, just _shut up_," he snarls as he lunges.

Obi-Wan always did tell him the importance of using surprise. It's not like he _has _to wait for Dooku to get done posturing and spouting pompous declarations—he has never been very patient to begin with, and he's certainly not much inclined to wait for the likes of _that._

Though he's clearly not expecting it, Dooku catches Anakin's strike and pushes it aside, slashing Anakin's blade far enough to the side that it catches the wall. There's a hiss of protest from the metal, but the burning fades before it really even starts, and the wall has nothing left to show for its trauma other than a fairly unimpressive slash. Then another, then more, as Anakin keeps coming, and in the small space, Dooku's defenses can push Anakin's blade nowhere other than into the walls.

Perhaps they should have started this in a more open area after all.

Dooku must agree, because he turns long enough to sprint for the end of the hallway. He barely makes it before Anakin is on him again, and, really, what kind of tactic was that, engaging in a footrace with someone more than half a century his junior?

The location they end up in is more to Dooku's liking, though. Now, at least, it's an open area, a conference room, which more than likely is used as a war room. Maybe the current battle was even discussed here. Anakin doesn't really care. All that matters is that it happened, that men are dying as they fight here, and Dooku planned that _somewhere_. He planned all of this sometime, right down to Order 66 and the takeover that devastated Anakin's life.

Darting to the side, Anakin thrusts upward, trying to catch Dooku high, only to have his attack blocked. He's too wide, too open, and—

A quick duck to the side saves the fight from being over far too quickly.

"Still think you're so superior, Skywalker?" Dooku snarls, all traces of a distinguished gentleman gone. He is not calm, is not proper, but his face is alight with dark hate, and with something Anakin recognizes. This man wants to kill him. There's a bloodlust in his eyes, and in them, Anakin can see a reflection of how he felt when his mother died.

Dooku hates him.

He's riding the dark side.

He doesn't reply. So often, he has a running conversation with his opponent, but here, there's hardly a point. He can't let his emotions rule this. He simply can't. There is nothing noble about what he is doing—not in his motives. The action is, perhaps, but his motives are not pure, and he _knows _that.

So, for now, if he wants to do this without brushing the dark side, he has to simply be Jedi Knight Anakin Skywalker, who is facing Sith Lord Count Dooku.

This cannot about vengeance. This is not about a personal grudge.

It could be. So very easily, it could be, but that would make him like Dooku. That would make this a kill like the kinds he committed in the Tusken camp. This would be vengeance, and he would gain a dark satisfaction from killing.

And he will not be that person.

Taking a deep breath, he sinks himself down deeper into the Force, away from his rage and distaste for this man, but instead somewhere into duty and what he knows would be required of any man who ended up dueling Dooku. He is a Jedi Knight, and he will not let himself take pleasure in what he is about to do simply because, on this particular occasion, his desire coincides with what his duty is asking him to do.

He strikes from the left side.

Dooku meets him, countering fiercely and forcing Anakin back toward the large table in the middle of the room. As soon as the back of his legs touch it, Anakin flips backward, landing on his feet on top of the table just in time to catch another of Dooku's strikes. A good move, yes, but because it failed, it has now put Dooku at a disadvantage: Anakin has the high ground.

Scowling, Dooku pulls back, stepping to the side, left hand out in front of him. To his right, he lets his saber hang in a deceptively loose grip, pointing toward the floor.

And with his left hand, he gathers the Force, throwing it forward to slam into the table, thrusting it backward. It squeaks in protest, metal screeching on metal as it flies across the floor—and it is by no means a small table—until it hits the wall with a crushing impact. Anakin jumps clear in time, just as the table flips up, the top of it smashing into the wall in what was a clear attempt by Dooku to crush Anakin.

Anakin lands on his feet off to the side.

This time, he strikes first, rushing in and slashing at Dooku's legs, then countering high when he's blocked. Then, to the other side, a little lower, but he's caught, forced back, and pretty soon, he's running on instinct. Their blades are flashing too quickly to think about any next move, and he runs on training alone, fueled by mere talent, trading blows with a man with years more experience.

That experience—and the plethora of styles it allows Dooku to draw from—gives him an advantage. The style Dooku is using is an older one. It has more of a flourish to it: it's more elegant, whereas Anakin's is more direct. His blade dances less, requires less finesse. It's less pleasing to the eye. It's difficult, adapting to meet an older style. He'd seen it on Geonosis, but that's been his only encounter with it; because it isn't as effective against blaster bolts, it had, for the most part, been given up in the Temple.

All right. That's all right. He can at least identify what he's facing, and he'll adjust accordingly. If he can shift the fight in his own favor, go on the offensive himself—long enough to make Dooku adjust to _him_—then he'll be the one setting the style.

He's only going to win this fight by setting the pace himself. He can't let Dooku dictate the pattern and mold it to his liking.

Aggressive. Offensive. Sharp. Intense. That's him. That's Anakin, and he has to fight like _that_.

He falls on Dooku with a kind brutal onslaught that leaves the muscles of his body snapping, tight like sinew, then loosening, slinging his arms back forward again, and again, and _again_. His strikes come fast and hard, and that's dangerous—he knows it is—because if Dooku manages to find an opening, he won't be able to recover. He's risking a lot like this, but he'll be risking more by playing conservative and letting Dooku have his way.

And slowly, though he hardly dares to hope, Dooku's style gives way to another, into one more suited to handle Anakin's attack.

Tactically, it's exactly what Dooku should do: his own style is not conducive to fighting against Anakin's attack, and thus he must adjust to something that is. But, tactically right or not, it's perfect for Anakin, just _perfect_, because this is what he wants. He can fight this, can counter the open, aggressive swings that Dooku is meeting his own with. He knows this and can fight it better than the sharply controlled graceful strikes of Dooku's preferred style.

Strike, slash, parry, always with the snap-hiss of lightsabers smashing together. Anakin hardly thinks, hardly cares to, but instead immerses himself in the way the blades look dancing together. He loses himself in that: in the burn of his muscles, in the way air feels crashing in and out of his lungs, and, most of all, in the uncertainty on Dooku's face.

It's all clinical: for the time being, he does not revel in that uncertainty. Instead, he reads it as the indication that it is.

Dooku realizes how much of an underestimation he's made.

Good.

With a particularly hard push, he knocks Dooku back into the remains of the conference room table. Almost immediately, Dooku rolls, just barely avoiding Anakin's lightsaber when it comes snapping down in the place where he was moments before. He even manages a good counter: Anakin has to drop back before rushing in again, with as much intensity as ever. Still, it's close, and he just avoids a lightsaber to the shoulder.

And then, finally, as he looks, Anakin sees what he's been waiting for: there's fear in Dooku's eyes.

He knows he's losing.

"You have hate. You have anger, Skywalker. Why not use them?" Dooku chokes out, breathing hard as he raises his blade, waiting for another attack. He doesn't even bother to make a pretense of attacking anymore.

Why not use the dark side? That's such a stupid question, but so incredibly hard to answer. He still struggles with that himself. Why not take the easier route? Why not access the easy power right in front of him?

"Because," he murmurs, shoving forward, one more slash, before catching Dooku in a saber lock, "I don't want to be you."

It's Geonosis all over again, and now, right here, Anakin can't quite entirely hold back his own personal feelings. Dooku _deserves _this, for all the people he hurt, for taking Anakin's arm. It's so perfect, too, because Anakin is never going to forget seeing Obi-Wan in this position, the way Dooku held him there in a saber lock, then struck out, straight to the arm, then to the thigh. For that—for those memories—he cannot be completely objective in this, and cannot help the burning feeling of victory.

He challenges any living being to not feel at least a bit of satisfaction when he twists his blade downward, grabbing Dooku's wrists with his other hand, slicing the other man's hands cleanly off. The blade slides through his limbs, catching only slightly, but they're already dropping to the floor with a loud, sick thump before Anakin really thinks about how it felt.

"I don't want to be _you_," he spits out again in disgust as he catches Dooku's lightsaber.

It's almost like a holovid the way Dooku sinks to his knees, expression a mingled display of shock and pain. He can't believe he's lost. _Well, believe it_. _Believe it, believe it, __**believe it**__. _

Because this? It's _reality_.

Anakin Skywalker has won this fight.

"I should end this right now."

He could. It would be so easy. Two blades at Dooku's neck, just a quick snip, slicing through, and it would be almost beautiful. This man doesn't deserve his own head, especially with how fond he is of cutting off other people's appendages. So much, this man deserves to die.

But Anakin cannot be the one to do it.

For his own sake, he knows that, even before Dooku speaks.

And when he does speak, he realizes how terrible a decision it would have been to give in to his own impulses.

"You kill me and you'll never find him."

On the hilt of the lightsabers, Anakin's hands clench.

Dread sneaks in. It's cold, and where the light of the Force was, snaking through his veins and everywhere around him, it seems to penetrate. He doesn't need to ask whom Dooku is referring to. He knows. He already does, and the knowledge rolls his stomach, making him feel as though he's just eaten rocks.

_Obi-Wan._

"I am the only one with knowledge of his whereabouts."

He never considered this. He never considered that Dooku would have moved him.

No. _No_.

But he can't—he can't lose his composure. Obi-Wan wouldn't—he wouldn't want him to do that, and it won't help anyway. He just has to… keep… calm…

Taking a deep breath, he forces down the mingled anger and panic and catches Dooku's stare, holding it steadily.

"And you're asking me to do what, then?" he asks slowly, his mouth feeling as dry as Tatooine. He can't make this call. Dooku is going to push him to it, but he's—Force, he's incapable. He can't make a decision that could lose him the only parent he's got left. Give him duels, give him traitorous clones, give him lost limbs and month-long missions on Force-forsaken planets. But this?

He just can't _do _this.

"Can't" is a decision too, though, and he knows that: one way or another, he has to make this call.

"I either kill you or take you as a prisoner."

Dooku's face hardens in determination. He's staving off the shock that comes with losing both hands—he knows his life depends on it, on being able to make this argument. "Keep me here, and he could be slowly starving to death, confined away from any help."

Don't hate. Don't give into it. So badly, he wants to. This man will use the only semblance of family he has left in order to save his own skin. He will use Obi-Wan and even sacrifice him if that is what it takes, and that is sick in a way that, Anakin, who loves enough to sacrifice himself without a second thought, cannot comprehend. He hates Dooku for that. He does.

But Anakin loves as much as he hates, and he chooses to love more than he hates Dooku. He just—Obi-Wan wouldn't want him to hate, no matter what Dooku is doing, and that has to be enough. What was it that he said? That Obi-Wan said? _You can't love and hate at the same time._

He'll be consumed by one or the other.

"He'd never forgive me if I let you go," Anakin says slowly, hands still steady, or as much as they can be, given how hard he's working to hide the shaking he knows is just beneath the surface.

Dooku's lips give a menacing twist, distorting his face to the point where he looks almost possessed. "If you don't, he might be dead."

Yes… and that's—Anakin can't risk everything to stop that. He just can't. Because he loves Obi-Wan, he can't make his life worth so much, not when he knows that Obi-Wan would never forgive him for doing that. If he disregards his master's wishes, it will only be an action born of selfishness. Disregarding what Obi-Wan wants and paying a cost that is far too high will be for nothing more than his own need to have his master back. It will be all about _him _and what he is afraid to lose.

"Yes, and he'd rather be dead than controlled by you. If I let you go in order to save his life, I'm doing it for selfish reasons," he admits, and somehow, saying it aloud makes it real. "I'd be doing it because _I_ need him."

He does need him, though. He does. And if he dies…

"If he dies, you'll never forgive yourself," Dooku murmurs.

Exactly. But, again, that's all about _him_.

"He'll be dead because _you _didn't save him. You have the power to save him. You only need to take it," Dooku whispers, his voice dropping seductively. He's so saturated with the dark side, almost to the point where Anakin nearly hears the pure whisper of darkness over the voice of what's left of Tyrannus Dooku.

This, he realizes, is what the dark side will do for him.

This is what it's like to be consumed.

His hands steady on the hilts of lightsabers. He's not shaking so much anymore.

"And if the galaxy falls because of me, he'll never forgive me. I'll live with the self-loathing. I'll have to either way: he dies, I'll hate myself; if the galaxy falls because of me, I'll hate myself. I'll choose the option where I know he won't hate me too."

Pausing, Anakin leans in a fraction of an inch closer. This—what he's going to say—it's not quite on par with what a Jedi Knight should say, but he's still human, imperfect, and he can't completely shut his emotions down. "And here's a promise," he murmurs, letting the heat of the blades singe at Dooku's neck. "If I find him dead, you'll regret it with every ounce of your being. I promise you that."

He's painfully aware of what decision Dooku has forced him to make. Weighing the cost of life is a horrible, horrible job, and while the reality of command has dictated that it's one he's had to take on before, it has never been Obi-Wan's life he's had to place an importance on before. And importance—it's so subjective. To him, Obi-Wan's importance cannot be measured, but in terms of the galaxy…

He may love Obi-Wan, but what of the millions of others in the galaxy like Anakin's master? There are other sons, other brothers, and other friends who would lose people dear to them if Anakin sacrifices everything to make sure that he isn't the one losing.

If he did that, though the motive would be born of love, it would be nothing more than selfishness.

That doesn't make it easier. It doesn't make his breathing ease up, and it doesn't release the ache in his chest that leaves him feeling like someone has reached in and violently grasped his organs. None of this is easy, and it hurts, and he cannot—will not—give up just yet.

He pushes the blades a little closer until he and Dooku are a perfect mirror of how they must have looked when Dooku did this to him, back when he was trying to manipulate Obi-Wan into giving him a base location. Like Anakin's did, Dooku's skin begins to blister, and fear begins to flicker in his eyes. He doesn't know the same fear, though. He can't. Dooku had pushed further, _much f_urther than Anakin is—and he will not push that far. He's angry and scared for Obi-Wan, but he will not become the very thing he's fighting to destroy, no matter how strongly his emotions are racing through him.

Is that control? Not acting on what you inwardly feel? He can't believe control is mastering the art of not feeling anything at all.

He could never not feel. Especially not now when he feels so strongly that it spills over into his senses, enabling him to almost taste the fear in Dooku's eyes. It burns there, like a fire, and in it's own way, it is a light. It is the kind that consumes and never warms, destroys and annihilates but never gives soothes, but it still lets Anakin see.

That light makes the dark side recede, just enough to let Anakin get a glimpse of the man under the darkness. There's nothing pure about the light—it's just cowardice giving an artificial glow—but it's enough for now. It'll have to be. "Now," Anakin asks, his tone slow and deliberate, "is he someplace where he'll stay alive?"

And Dooku answers with a choked word, but one that has never sounded so beautiful to Anakin, "Yes."

"Where?" he snaps, gritting his teeth. _Please…_

But Dooku's lip only curls in a nasty sneer, pulling his lips back to show teeth that are beginning to yellow with age. He's an aging man, slipping past his prime, and Anakin could so easily cut off the handful of years that he has left, but Dooku has still managed to grasp power here, and he knows it. He's gained power by playing with the life of a man that he cares for more than anyone left alive.

Clearly, he doesn't care for anyone very much at all. Not really, not enough to make it matter. What good is residual affection if it doesn't alter actions?

It's disgusting. He'll do anything to save himself, and it's absolutely nauseating in Anakin's mind.

"You can't really think I'll tell you, Skywalker," he spits out, Anakin's name inflected like it's a curse. Even here, on his knees with a lightsaber to his throat, he's proud: he keeps his spine straight, even if it makes his knees dig into the floor a little more, because Force knows it's worth it, right?

Anakin despises everything about him.

He can't hold that thought back. He just can't.

"You're disgusting," he mutters, watching beads the beads of sweat forming on Dooku's forehead, mapping their ways down his temple and into his beard. Soon, shock from losing his hands will set in. Anakin almost hopes it kills him. "You say you care about him, but you don't care about anyone more than yourself. You'll let him suffer, just to save your own sorry skin." _It's wrong! _he wants to scream. Obi-Wan is—he's so much more than Dooku, and—and—

And for just a moment, he could swear that Dooku feels that too.

It's gone too quickly to know for sure, lost under the years and the darkness, and Anakin doubts he'll see it again. Dooku has made his choice, and he has chosen wrongly. There is no room for family or love in the darkness, and he has, just now, made it definitively clear that, though he still wistfully hopes for all those things, he is willing to sacrifice whatever he needs to in order to maintain his own power and well-being.

Even if that means sacrificing the last bit of connection to the light that he has left, he will do it, and there is no turning back from a decision like that.

He has had his last chance at redemption offered to him, and he has chosen to reject it.

So be it. Anakin can't stop him, and, at this point, he hopes the darkness burns him to a charred mess that's as black as sin itself. Dooku willingly chose that. Let the consequences eat him alive.

"I'm afraid," Dooku tells him, fighting against the strain that's clearly beginning to override the adrenaline rush that the promise of death brought on, "that sometimes sacrifices, though they are regrettable, must be made."

No. Not when the sacrifice is Obi-Wan, and Anakin just wants to shake him, scream at him to just tell, just give it up, just say where Obi-Wan kriffing is! Just—just— "Tell me where he is, and I'll consider asking the courts for _some _leniency."

"You'll consider?" His breath is coming sharper now as the reality of his wound begins to pull him down. "I doubt it. No, the location will… remain… unknown…"

"Why are you doing this?" Anakin demands while, finally, though he doesn't want to, capping his lightsabers. He keeps them in his hands as a subtle—or not so much—reminder, but he allows Dooku to rise. It's not as though he's much of threat on the brink of collapse and without his hands. "You've lost, whether or not I find Obi-Wan."

The smile Dooku gives him in reply is the most sinister, stomach-turning thing Anakin thinks he's ever seen. That—it is not the look of a man. It is the look of a demon, of someone who lives only for revenge and spite and the power that those things hold. "I don't believe you can stand firm, Skywalker. I—" he pauses, taking a breath as he sways dizzily on his feet, "I don't believe you can hold out. Every time you close your eyes, you'll think of him in the worst possible circumstances, hidden, and left alone to perpetually relive the mistakes he's made. You… know he will. That iswho he… is. With only his own mind for company, he'll e-examine his faults. That will—will bring him—back to—to the dark… side… He'll be alone, in the dark."

He's right. Anakin can't deny that, and even when Dooku finally pitches forward and lands on his side, unconscious, he can hardly feel satisfaction. That fall will give him the man a nasty headache, but Anakin can't feel anything about that, either. All he can feel is exactly what Dooku said he would.

"He's stronger than you think," he mutters, standing over Dooku's body, sabers still in his hands, "and so am I."

Just wait. They'll prove it. He'll find Obi-Wan, and Obi-Wan—he'll just, he'll prove Dooku wrong too. Anakin knows his master, and he knows he won't give in.

_Just keep fighting, Obi-Wan. Just a little longer. Hold on, and I'll find you, and we'll add this rescue to the total, just like we always do._

Oddly, as he reaches out with the Force to help him drag Dooku toward the nearest hangar, he finds that he likes how that works. There's no reason to stop a good thing, right? No, Obi-Wan is going to be just fine. Anakin is too stubborn to believe anything else.

_Unfortunately_, a tiny voice in the back of his mind whispers, _believing something doesn't necessarily make it true._


	36. Chapter 35

**Disclaimer: **I own nothing.

**Feedback**: If you'd be so kind as to leave some, I'll do my best to reply.

**Notes:** ROTS AU.

random: Oh, I know. Blame school. Sorry. I actually had the last part ready to go last night, but I was really tired and just decided to upload it today.

Corni378: Fight scenes are, I find, some of the hardest to write, but they often come out the best since they're amped with emotion. I'm glad you liked it. :) Haha, I am in a college writing class this semester. However, when I wrote this story (and everything else except the really current one-shots) I was not. Writing is just sort of something that I became passable at by doing it a lot, by getting feedback on sites like this and livejournal, and by just looking at what good authors did and trying to emulate their best points while mixing it with my own style. I never really had instruction.

mtfrosty: Aww, well I don't want to make you cry! (Or, maybe I do, since that means the story is getting a reaction… but, still, I'm glad you're laughing after!) And, yes, this story will have to end eventually. Not quite yet, though.

Dannielle: If you want to reach me, just send me a Private Message. Thanks for reading.

Liah Cauthon: Ahaha! That's a perfect way to describe it! :) Love it!

IBG: Personally, if I were Padme, I wouldn't want to see Anakin's command tactics up close. The poor woman would probably have a heart-attack. With Dooku, it really does all come down to arrogance. He severely underestimated Anakin because he disliked him. And about Anakin's isolation? I agree 100%! I'm of the opinion that, if he hadn't been a moron and had instead done as Padme suggested and talked to Obi-Wan, it would have been a lot harder for Palpatine to twist his mind. Even if he'd told Padme what he was planning to do—that might have helped as well.

Booknerd101: Haha, yes, Anakin can rock things when he gets control long enough to do so.

charliebrown1234: Yes, Obi-Wan tears himself apart in a way no one else can really do. Physical torture might be easier.

Star the Foxhound: Thanks! And, yes, Anakin is learning what the dark side does, isn't he?

onesmartgoalie: Mmm, Anakin definitely has benefited, hasn't he? Actually, in a lot of ways Dooku has benefited also.

yellow 14: That's the fun of an AU! So much can be changed.

pronker: I think the fact that he's actually considering emotional motivations shows that he's grown. And I was rather pleased with the bit about Typho as well. I always have fun playing with characters who don't usually get too much attention.

MobiObi: Aww, thanks! And you basically perfectly described everything I was trying to do with this chapter.

Mirror and Image: Haha, Qui-Gon also believed that Anakin was in no way dangerous… But, yes, Anakin would probably find a way to kill Obi-Wan if he died. I have no idea how that's possible, but he'd do it. And, yes, there will be an Anakin/Dooku talk—and you're right, he _is _Obi-Wan's student.

whimperling: :)

random: Nah, he's not going to die.

AndrossKenobi: I find it so interesting how, in an AU, so much can change.

Torli: Yes, Anakin has changed. For better, hopefully. As for Obi-Wan, I can't tell you that—it would ruin the story. But I'll suffice to say that he's having some trouble… and is going to keep having trouble.

Random Under the Sun: Bishop Bousset is a very important topic. ;) And the clip? Hahaha, oh _yes_.

* * *

So, I think I have fixed the "Things Get Damaged" video. It now has sound. Thanks for being patient.

Also, I've got another vid up: it's to "Secrets" by One Republic and is an Obi-Wan, Anakin, and Padme vid.

* * *

It takes Obi-Wan a two weeks to realize with certainty that Dooku isn't on planet… whatever "on planet" means. Frankly, he has not even the faintest notion of where he is, nor does he know what has happened in the world beyond the confines of his room. Last he knew, some sort of offensive had been launched, presumably by Anakin.

And that is all.

Now, he is here alone, and has been for two weeks.

Obi-Wan isn't a particularly social man. He is an introvert by nature, and he enjoys his time alone… but not now. Not like this. Here, all he can consider are his failures, most prominently his recent brush with the dark side. It was like this when Qui-Gon first died, when all he could think about was what he could have done differently. But then there had been Anakin, and meals to make, and clothes to buy, lessons to plan, and training to attend to. Anakin had taken up so much of his time, and he'd found that when he was throwing himself into what someone else needed, he didn't have to think so much about what _he_ was feeling.

For the first time, he has lost the diversion provided by the needs of others, and all that is left to focus on is himself.

Himself. Sometimes, he wonders. He has been told he is a great Jedi, a trustworthy man, and… and what? Everything others praise him for, he cannot seem to truly bring himself to believe to be a solid attribute of his own character. He knows his thoughts—the things that linger behind the actions others see and praise—and he knows all too well how often he feels drawn to following those thoughts rather than the actions he knows to be right. Would people still consider him the same person if they knew his mind and how often he wavers in things he seems to believe wholeheartedly? And is it the thoughts or the actions that matter? For so long, he has been the man he needs to be because there have been people depending on him. But here, there is no one. There is only himself. And what is he now that no one is guiding him or looking to him to be an example?

Two weeks after being left here alone, he still can't find an answer. Not really… but, maybe. He—the things that he clings to when no one is forcing him to—that is, perhaps, what makes him. Not necessarily the things that haunt him, but the things that he _wants _to remember and believe.

He is not a man who breaks. He is not. Not even though he wants to. Every blasted time that he closes his eyes and sees Utapau all over again—when all he can think of is how he almost slipped into the darkness—he wants to let himself believe that is who he is. No expectations, no failures. If he doesn't expect to be anything better, he doesn't have to feel guilty for failing.

But that would be cowardice… and that is not who he wants to be. There is no one here to expect him to be anything else, but he finds that, oddly, that isn't what is really most important.

He is what he believes in, and even if he doubts sometimes, those beliefs translate into actions. He is a Jedi because he believes their codes to be something worth living by. He is loyal to the Republic because he believes in their cause. He refuses the dark because he sees where it will lead him, and he knows it is a path that brings destruction, both to himself and to others. He believes in those things, and for that, he will not give them up, no matter how much easier it might seem to simply let himself stop trying to live up to the standards those things bring. Again, no expectations, no disappointment. That, he thinks, is what makes the dark side most seductive. You aren't held by any standards. Whatever gets you what you want—that is what is acceptable. It's quicker. Easier. Less arduous. It promises no guilt.

And it will destroy you, because by not trying to be _anything_, you will become_ nothing_. You may evolve into the greatest, most powerful person in the galaxy, and still be nothing. Nothing but darkness. There will be no one with you, because the dark side holds no morals. You would kill a friend without a second thought, because that is what is easiest. And there is no guilt in it, because there was never anything to tell you it was wrong at all. No loyalty. No love. Nothing but yourself and the freedom from expectation that any sort of moral code restrains you with. How lonely. How useless.

And for Obi-Wan, that freedom cannot be worth the price he will pay. He wants the scenes to stop replaying in his head. The slaughter during the war. Qui-Gon's death. Utapau. Every single mistake he has ever made. To think that those mistakes would no longer be mistakes—it's so, so enticing.

But to take that freedom in darkness would be to lose everything that makes him want freedom in the first place. He killed on Utapau because he loved Anakin. He regrets Qui-Gon's death because he loved his master. He regrets the mistakes he made as a Jedi because he willingly serves the light of the Force and takes joy in what he finds there. To no longer regret the failures in his life would mean, most importantly, scorning the light and the joy it brings… and it would mean forgetting his motive for killing the first place. He cannot love if he embraces the darkness, because love, by its very definition, _is _light.

He might save those he loves by going to the darkness, but he will no longer love them if he does, and he will betray the light of the Force that he loves above all. By saving what he loves, he will lose it all anyway, lose himself, lose _everything_.

He will be nothing.

And, yet, still the darkness pulls at him.

He pushes it away and rejects it, but it is there, lurking, licking at the corners of his mind in the memories, and too many times in the last week, he has found himself bent over the toilet, vomiting, as he sees glazed eyes and slaughtered corpses on the dry, arid ground, glowing in the blue glow of his saber, and the smell of death, and—

And he wakes up, propped against the wall of the refresher, chest heaving, and stomach rolling. This time, there's nothing to throw up, but he heaves anyway, falling forward to clutch the toilet as tears roll down his face. He is not dark. He is _not_, but it would be so easy to be. Just to get rid of those memories. All of them.

But he is _not_ a weak man. He _will_ remember that, will repeat it to himself as many times as he has to. He will not select what is easy simply to alleviate his own personal suffering, which was brought on from straying into the darkness to begin with. He will not give in, though it hurts not to.

He will not give in.

The sound of a plate sliding through the slot in the door catches his attention and provides a welcome break for his mind. It's also a reminder that, someone, at least, is still here. They never open the door—not surprising, considering that to do so might allow Obi-Wan to employ the use of some well-placed Force manipulation—but it proves that there's at least someone on planet with him. It could even be a droid for all he knows, but that is still relevant.

It means someone is watching him.

If someone is watching him, that means they won't allow him to die.

It's not that he fears dying. Not at all, really. It might even be a welcome escape from the memories that haunt him. Sleep is a near impossibility, and meditation is difficult, because in order to release something to the Force, he has to face that something, and…

No, death would certainly not be the worst that could happen to him.

That doesn't mean he seeks it.

He has never learned to give up, and so much comes back to that, doesn't it? More importantly, if Anakin is going to be foolish enough to attempt to rescue him—and he will, because he always does—Obi-Wan does not intend to be so cruel as to let his padawan find nothing more than a dead body. Not if he can help it.

Of course, he's altogether rather tired of his padawan having to rescue him at all.

He is a Jedi Master in his own right, and to suffer the indignity of having to be saved by the boy he trained is more than slightly irritating. He can look after himself—and did so for long enough to successfully get Anakin through to adulthood. It's hardly good for Anakin to get the idea that Obi-Wan _needs _to be saved, and he does have to admit that he hates that satisfied smirk Anakin always gives him after another rescue (almost as much as he enjoys the sour scowl he gets when _he _rescues _Anakin_).

No, he'd much rather rescue himself.

Which is why it's so important to know that there is another presence in this place—a presence that is continually feeding him, indicating it has orders to make sure he lives.

Wiping a hand roughly across his mouth, Obi-Wan pushes himself to his feet and trudges over to where the tray of food sits. As always, it's a quality meal. Nothing but the best for Dooku's prisoners… or at least the ones that he's oddly fond of. Such a lovely reminder of how the dark side twists affection. If he fell to the dark side, would he ever treat Anakin's child like this? Be willing to kill him if it came to that—and he has no delusions that Dooku would pick his own life over Obi-Wan's—but have enough warped, residual affection for Anakin that he would prefer not to? It's… not a pleasant thought.

Forcefully smashing down those notions, Obi-Wan carefully picks up the food and carries it over to the table, where he sits down and begins to pick at it.

Again, food indicates they don't want him to die. Dooku is an intelligent man: surely he must have planned for any contingency involving Obi-Wan's demise… including the outside chance that Obi-Wan would decide he wouldn't want to live. In planning for that possibility, however, Obi-Wan would almost guarantee that he factored in staged suicide attempts. Attempting to hang himself with his bed sheets in hopes of getting someone to come in and stop him—thus creating the prospect of an opportunity for escape—would more likely earn him a shot from a blaster on stun than anything else, and if that happened, he certainly wouldn't be going anywhere.

No, any sort of staged suicide would be far too obvious. It won't gain him anything. Something else—something more subtle—is called for. Something that will seem like an accident, one where shooting him would do more harm than good.

Too far lost in his thoughts, Obi-Wan neglects to bother with the menial task of chewing completely. Irritatingly, his line of thinking is thrown off when he swallows too large a bite and ends up coughing, sipping at water until his hacking subsides.

Stupid. _That _would certainly put an end to things rather quickly. Choking to death on his dinner. Charming.

Scowling, he spears another bite on his fork… and pauses.

Choking on dinner. A purely accidental happening. One which, in order to be rectified, requires the victim to _cough_. He won't cough if he's unconscious. Thus, they can't stun him. However, if the coughing isn't enough, he will require assistance. Again, it is assistance that is ideally given _before _the victim loses consciousness. Revival is possible once unconscious, but, again, more difficult. No, coughing and conscious are much more desirable.

Suddenly, dinner seems _far _more interesting.

* * *

Four hours and three minutes after Anakin left, he sails back into the hangar in a small ship that he stole from the First Galactic Empire. Though it's just gone through a war zone, its sides are smoothed and undamaged, free of blaster marks, indicating that he wasn't fired upon when he left Dooku's ship, which, of course, means no one _ordered_ for him to be fired upon. Logical, considering that, according to the transmission Anakin sent through, there's no one left to give an order like that.

Dooku left no second in command and, frankly, Padme isn't surprised. He would never have appointed one—to do so would have meant entertaining the possibility that he might fail, and thus need someone to take his place. Now that he_ has_ failed, it's awfully convenient for them, considering there's no one left to command his troops, but it will mean that someone—possibly Mace Windu—who is on Coruscant now, will have to go to the Chancellor's office and work through whatever barriers Dooku erected to stop the clones from standing down on any order other than his own. Given that he himself utilized the lack of precautions regarding transfer of orders in order to secure his transition to power, he would have likely taken steps to bar someone from doing the same.

And Padme does have to admit, that was a _huge _oversight the first time around. The clones would, very literary, obey a direct order from anyone holding the position of Supreme Chancellor, which amounted to anyone who had all the security clearances of the Supreme Chancellor. Dooku, having successfully infiltrated the capital and removed all opposition, had been able to quite easily obtain the clearance information he'd needed, partially because Palpatine had given him bits of it, and partially because he'd had the time and clout to gather it. After all, people tend to be fairly forthcoming with information when faced with the business end of a lightsaber, and Dooku certainly had no qualms about using violence to obtain his goals.

Once Anakin's ship has landed, the ramp slides open with a soft hiss, slipping down to meet with the floor. The sight that follows… isn't entirely what Padme expected. Anakin had commed to tell them briefly—_very_ briefly—what had happened, but when he had mentioned that he'd taken Dooku prisoner, he _hadn't _mentioned that he'd also managed to chop off his hands at some point in that process.

At least, that particular injury is what she assumes provided enough trauma to warrant Dooku's transportation in a medical capsule. Though, by now Anakin has probably sedated him as well. There is absolutely no reason to risk allowing him to wake before he has been properly secured, and her husband would know that, probably better than she would. He's no stranger to war.

Looking at him now, she'd never doubt that for a second. Though his eyes flick toward her quickly, confirming her presence, there is a solemnity to him that speaks of concentration and intentness. Clearly, his first concern remains with Dooku and with ensuring that he is being transferred to a secure location, one where he will be properly held. She watches him speak with Captain Typho, both of them occasionally nodding, and while she cannot hear what they're saying, she recognizes the intensity in their hand gestures and motions, and knows that, overall, they are in agreement.

She's proven right when, apparently satisfied, Anakin gives Typho one final nod before turning away, leaving Dooku under his supervision. Even then he can't seem to relax: he carries the stress heavily in his shoulders as he strides purposely forward toward her, tired and worn, but with a hint of a man who delights in no longer having to hide the fact that he's coming home to his wife.

"He owed me for mine," Anakin quips, flexing his mechanical hand when he sees how her eyes linger on Dooku. "And he cut it off twice, too, so I'd say we're even now."

Even? Oh, hardly. Dooku can't pay for the damage he's done that easily.

That thought must show on her face, because he laughs, a little darkly, more like he's trying to force humor than really feeling it, and nods. "Yeah, you're right. We'll try him, though. Bastard deserves to see how it feels to stand trial. And _all _of _his _crimes will be real."

Honestly, Padme wonders if Anakin realizes how bad a joke that is. Is it even a joke? She's a little too tired to tell if he's serious or not, and there _is _the possibility that he actually is.

Or not.

His mouth twists a little in a perfect display of repentance, and he lays his hands on her shoulders. No, he wasn't serious. He was only trying to make light of a very bad situation. "Look… all I'm trying to say is that we'll fix this. We _will_."

Of course. Just like that and… that cannot be how this ends. She—Force, she expects there to be some sort of fireworks, a celebration, _something _that would indicate that, though there's still a lot of work to do, they've managed to put themselves in a position to restore democracy. Shouldn't there be something more?

Anakin just laughs when she says that last sentence aloud and reaches out to pull her against him. She loves the way his chest rumbles when he laughs like that, and she lets the vibrations ripple through her, soothing her, as she buries her head in his shoulder and sighs.

"It doesn't always end with a lot of fanfare," he answers. "Sometimes, but not always. And sometimes the end isn't the end at all: there's always a lot of mopping up to do. Like now."

He sounds hopeful, though, and that's enough to take the pessimism out of his words. Mostly.

"Don't ever do something so foolish again," she mutters, snaking her arms around his back and holding on.

Against her, he stirs, his muscles tightening just enough to hint that he's not so pleased with what she's just said. Petulant would probably by an apt description, and if she looked, she suspects that she'd probably see a bit of a pout or a borderline scowl. "What? Like running off to an incredibly heavily guarded planet to deliver a message without telling your husband? Like that?"

"It was—"

"I was justified too!"

"I was going to say it was our only good option to get that message to Obi-Wan."

He pulls away then, leaning back and glancing over at the other people in the hangar. Other pilots, mainly, but some of Typho's men as well, and others who staff the hangar. They'll do their jobs well, but they're only human, and they can't resist sneaking a glance at the man of the hour, Anakin Skywalker. He's used to it, her husband. He's been a prominent figure in this war for a long time, but she can tell, just from looking at him, that this time isn't like any of the others.

"You don't know where he is, do you?" she asks.

No answer. Just a cold, hard silence, and a deep breath, like for the first time, he's noticing everyone who's staring at him. And that—_that _is her first sign that he is about to crumble. He likely isn't even conscious of it, but if he's noticing others, it's a sure sign that he wishes he wasn't around for them to notice, and the only reason she can think of for that is he wants to let himself down somewhere in private.

Gripping his arm and pulling him aside, she guides him toward the exit. Everyone's gazes follow them—she can feel them even if she doesn't meet any of them—but she still pulls him away. Later, he can been a solider. For now, he needs time to be just a human being. He is _only _human, despite how extraordinary he is, and he cannot escape the stress brought on from his worry for the only family, besides herself, that he has left.

"No," Anakin admits once they leave the hangar. "We didn't find him."

When the doors slide closed, hiding him from everyone who might think less of him for a perceived weakness, his shoulders immediately slope heavily, and he shakes his head, letting his hair fall messily down into his face. The weariness she sees in his gaze is like a curtain falling, and there's nothing gentle about it. "He's alive—Dooku said he was, but he moved him, and he won't say where."

"Ani… we'll find him."

_Please, don't let that be a lie._

It could be. They might never find Obi-Wan, and while both of them know that, neither of them will rest believing it. Sometimes, hope is just the tenacity to keep believing, and Padme has found that often times that is more important than any set of odds or formal logic.

Anakin knows that too.

Nodding, he reaches out and catches the fabric of her jumpsuit. Or, at least, what he _can _catch. She hasn't changed since Coruscant, and she's still wearing the tight black monstrosity that is only really barely definable as clothing rather than a second skin. It makes him smile, though, and that's worth it, even if she knows he's using it to avoid his own worries.

"Nice outfit."

"It fits with where I was going."

"The clothing maybe. But not you. Please don't do something like that again."

If he'd said it like an order, she might have argued, protested that she can care for herself quite well, has been doing it long before he came along, in fact… but the way the words trip off his tongue, soft and a little desperate—she can't ignore that. She forgets sometimes, that as brave as her husband is, his fear is also one of his greatest weaknesses.

"I'm sorry," she says instead, leaning back into him and pulling him into her embrace. She's not entirely surprised when he presses his face into her neck, breathing hard, and he's not crying, but she knows he's close. "Ani, we'll get him back," she whispers, beginning to rock him gently, one hand going to his hair and stroking. Its soft to her touch, even with all the grime in it, and though he smells of metal and ship exhaust, there's something warm about him too.

"I know," he murmurs.

Maybe he does. Maybe he knows better than she does, but both of them are doubting, and right now, the only thing they can do is doubt—and believe—together. This, she supposes, is the side of marriage that isn't romantic and is the furthest thing from the fairytales little girls hear. But this is what makes it real, and she can't imagine not wanting to help her Ani in this time as much as any.

Getting married might have been a logically foolish decision, but right now most of all, she doesn't regret it.

Eventually, Anakin pulls back, one hand going to her stomach and stroking. His eyes are wet, but there are no tears falling. He just… looks so tired. "Are you all right? The baby?"

"We're both fine." _He's_ not, but she knows when not to push, and instead she lets him take her hand and pull her down the corridor, off toward their shared quarters. "Anakin, we'll need to report—"

"They can wait. I—Padme, I just need to—I can't right now."

And he really can't. She can see that in every action, every word, and every glance. And, Force, why should he have to? He's done his job today. He's put himself on the line for everyone else, and they can't just expect him to give until he has nothing left. They can wait. They can all wait, and she'll take it up with anyone who thinks otherwise. Maybe suggest that _they _spend some time on the front lines.

No, his report can wait. She'll make his excuses for him.

"All right," she agrees, and then falls silent until they reach their quarters.

As soon as they're inside, he slumps down on the bed, head in his hands, and just sighs, long and hard. He doesn't do anything more, and, honestly, she can't blame him. He's stalled out at this, and it seems like the most natural thing in the world to help him, reaching forward and undoing his belt, pulling off the outer layers of his tunic, then his undershirt also until he's down to his pants. He lets her, eyes fluttering closed, and she just barely manages to get a pillow under his head before he lies down completely.

"Thank you," he whispers, kneading his forehead with his palm before he turns over and presses his face into the pillow.

Carefully, she folds his clothing, putting it beside the bed where he'll be able to get at it easily when he wakes up. Then, she moves down further and undoes his boots, slipping them off and placing them next to the clothing. He doesn't move for any of it, and now, finally, she can hear the soft chokes of breath that she knows are the closest to sobs that he's going to reach.

He doesn't cry very much at all. Force knows he has the right after everything he's seen, all the people he's seen die, all the _destruction_, but he almost never does. It's only when he reaches a wall that he feels like he can't, even with all his astounding abilities, find a way to climb or circumvent or just _pass_ that he hits this point. Of all the things in the world, Anakin hates feeling helpless. Powerless. For a little boy from Tatooine who once had no ability to change his circumstances, it is the worst feeling in the world to be in that place once again.

She remembers when his mother died. It had been like that then, and he'd blamed himself for being just a little too late. He couldn't change it, though, and that had shattered him.

"We'll fix this, Ani," she murmurs, sitting down next to him, her side pressed to his back. He's rolled away from her, but she doesn't make any move to turn him.

He'd done this after Jabiim too. His master had been gone, and every time he'd heard the words "orphaned padawan" she'd watched his eyes darken. She remembers wondering how the Jedi Order could possibly claim, especially when using terminology like that, that a master was not a parent.

At times, she'd really despised the Order that her husband was a part of.

"'M tired, Padme," he murmurs, voice thick with tears. "I've—I've messed up so much. It's—it's not just Obi-Wan. It's everything that put him in this situation to start with. I—" he breaks off and takes a deep, shaky breath, "It's—if I'd just been a little better, recognized things a little sooner instead of listening to what I wanted to hear. Palpatine—he told me what I wanted to hear, Padme, and I listened to him instead of my master, because I liked what he was saying better. I—instead of listening to the person who actually cared, I—I played right into Sidious's hands."

What's she supposed to say to that? It's true—he did accept those things that he liked hearing more, but, then, what person doesn't? "He was good at what he did, Anakin. No one else saw it, either."

"Obi-Wan didn't like him. _You_ were having concerns about him too. I—I should have _listened._"

"Anakin, you're a loyal person, and that's—it's not _bad_. But he befriended you as a child, and by the time you were old enough to notice anything strange, you already trusted him. You already considered him a friend. He—Anakin, you have to understand, he took advantage of an impressionable _child _and worked his way under your defenses before you could really even build them. You couldn't have known. No one did. Even Obi-Wan let you spend time with him. _No one_ knew."

"Maybe," he mutters, calmer now, but almost a little angry. "Maybe that's true. But Obi-Wan raised me from the age of nine, and I still chose to listen to Palpatine instead of him. How could I—you can't possibly tell me that I owed more loyalty to him than to Obi-Wan."

She can't. That's true, but can't he see that it was just a mistake? Everyone struggles with pride, and Palpatine played on his. It _was _a mistake, but he can't possibly use it to blame himself for everything that's happened. "You let your pride blind you," she agrees. "It was wrong. It was. But, Anakin, you are not the only person in the world who should have realized something was out of place."

"Maybe not. But just because others are guilty doesn't make me any _less _guilty."

"No. But it means you aren't the only one who needs to change in order to make things right. It means you aren't solely responsible. It means you change what you can change, and you leave what you can't for those who can." She pauses then, hand tightening on his shoulder. "You were wrong. You were. But lay the blame where it belongs: Palpatine's intentions were corrupt. _He _started this. _Dooku _did this. You didn't do this. Recognize that you had faults that prevented you from stopping them, but, please, at least acknowledge that you didn't create the problem."

Anakin laugh sounds so brittle, and she is reminded of the noise of breaking glass: his shoulders are shaking a bit, and for a moment, she wonders if he'll shatter like his laugh. "You sound like Obi-Wan. He'd tell me to put the blame where it belongs. And then he'd probably tell me to meditate on the issue of pride to prevent it in the future. Use this as a learning experience. Something like that."

"And why won't you listen? Do you _like _blaming yourself?"

"I—it makes me—I feel like I deserve it, and it's the only way I'll ever feel right again."

"And when will you have punished yourself enough, Anakin? That blame—it can make you as dark as the faults themselves. Obi-Wan would probably also tell you that this can be a path to the dark side. If you become stagnant in your blame and self-loathing, that's all you'll be able to see. Hating yourself is still hate, and hate is still—"

"I get it."

She pauses, hand relaxing a little to rub up and down his arm. "Do you?"

"No, I… do." Finally, he turns over, meeting her gaze with exhausted eyes. Instinctively, she reaches out and brushes the hair back from his forehead, sighing as he stares at her. "I do get it. I just—I'm tired, Padme, and I'm worried, and—I'm working to correct those things I did wrong, but…"

"No one deserves forgiveness, Anakin. That's what makes it so wonderful."

Another sigh, but… maybe a little more accepting this time. "Yeah…"

"We're going to find him, Anakin. We are. And, even if we don't, it's Dooku's fault, not yours."

That at least earns her a tired smile, and he reaches up and takes her arms, pulling her down toward him. "You know that I love you, right?" he mutters as she sinks down onto the mattress.

Nodding, she slips into bed beside him, and even when he moves up against her, it's she who's holding him, and she lets him lean on her, loves him for it, and just wonders how the Jedi ever thought this could be wrong.


	37. Chapter 36

**Disclaimer: **I own nothing.

**Feedback**: If you'd be so kind as to leave some, I'll do my best to reply.

**Notes:** ROTS AU.

Kingsdaughter613: Thanks for reading! I'll try to get a chance to read your stories, but I can't guarantee that: college keeps me pretty busy, and in my spare time, I'm usually either working on writing or editing what I've written. Heh, and, yes, choking can be very dangerous. I'm first aid certified as well, though I hope I never have to use it.

charliebrown1234: Honestly? I usually find this kind of "genius" in the shower. No, seriously, it's where I do my best thinking, I believe.

pronker: Poor Obi-Wan was going to go crazy if he didn't have someone to focus on. And Anakin has needed to self-diagnose since he first appeared in the trilogy. I feel privledge to be able to help with that. :)

onesmartgoalie: Why, Obi-Wan will blow things up, of course! ;)

Booknerd101: "When we choke on our food, we think, "Oops," but when OBI-WAN chokes on his food, he thinks, "I could use this phenomenon to escape!" Haha, this made me laugh. A lot. And I have read one of Timothy Zahn's books. I enjoyed it—if I ever get free time, I'd like to read more.

Random Under the Sun: I dunno—I kind of like Locke. Or, at least I like him once I'm done reading him… While I'm reading him, not so much. And R2D2? Yeah, I'm not going to lie… I just kind of forgot about him. However, now that I think about it, he probably didn't die. But since Anakin was separated from him when captured by the clones, his whereabouts are currently unknown.

* * *

Dooku wakes to the smell of bacta. At first, he does not open his eyes. Even in sleep, he dreamed of what he knows has happened, and he is aware, before he even wakes fully, that when he does come back to awareness, he will no longer have his hands. If he lingers a bit longer in a world where he doesn't have to fully embrace that fact with the added sense of sight, who can blame him?

But to delay, ultimately, gains him nothing, and he is not a weak man. He will not delay the inevitable for long. He has, as he knows, lost, and to not embrace that would be worse than useless.

He cannot change what he does not accept.

So, he opens his eyes, takes in the sight of a ship's medical bay, and tries not think how far he has fallen. Oh, and when Skywalker comes to gloat—and he _will_—that may, perhaps, be the worst of all.

Even having been bested by the boy, he cannot find it in himself to respect him. He despises him, certainly, but he cannot respect him, and certainly not when he still possesses one strong hold over him. Nothing that will change the circumstances, but still, one final hold.

Kenobi will not die. It is cruel what he is doing, Dooku knows, but this is his last shred of victory over… anything, frankly, and he will not be denied. He has lost everything else, and to _Skywalker _no less.

But in this, Dooku can still defeat him.

He tries to move then, barely containing a gasp when pain shoots through his arms at the movement. No restraints. None are needed. He cannot open a Force-resistant door with no hands. And given the pain in his limbs, there's no point in trying. He won't get far. No—escape is not likely. But he has not lost. Oh, no—not entirely, and that, at least, is important.

It's… complicated, this feeling, and Dooku wonders absently whether he should even bother examining it. Perhaps. Yes, it's best to understand his own motivations, and he nods to himself as he stares at the ceiling above him. If he wanted, he could move, because nothing but pain is stopping him, and that is… amusing in its own way.

Black humor. Gallows humor. He supposes he can call it what he likes. It is, after all, the prerogative of a man in his position.

There's some comfort to be had in the fact that he has been left alone for the time being. Certainly, that won't last long. Someone has likely been assigned to observe him, and he assumes they are even aware that he's conscious. If he were anyone his captors had any sympathy for, no doubt someone would have entered by now with the intention of discerning his mental state. It's a small blessing that, clearly, they don't care much for him. It saves him unwanted visitors.

A quick glance to his side brings an IV drip into his line of sight. Yes, he supposes that's necessary after what he assumes was quite a shock to his body. And, naturally, his captors also assume that he won't tamper with it, because he no longer has hands to do so. They likely also assumes he understands it would be counter-productive to his healing.

Fools. The whole lot of them. They have no concept of what he desires.

In all honesty, he isn't certain he knows himself. His own motivations are sometimes a bit hazy, even in his own mind.

Yes, and he was going to consider his own motivations, wasn't he? Well, his fleeting attention can be forgiven based on the fact that he has quite a lot on his mind. Understandable, certainly, but best not to put off the inevitable any longer.

Skywalker. He's as good a place to start as any. Best to get what's most loathsome out of the way first… and he does despise the boy. Skywalker was slotted as his replacement, and for that, his faults cannot be overlooked. Even in the darkness, Skywalker was considered more desirable than Dooku. He could be forgiven for that, Dooku supposes, but not for being equally as favored in the light. Having both—that is his real transgression.

Sidious wanted him, and yet, Skywalker also had Jedi who cared for him. From what he has heard, even Qui-Gon was incredibly fond of the boy, and that is to say nothing of Kenobi. And while Dooku understands that he himself could never have gained the affection of either of those men—not with the path he chose—he cannot stop the anger roiling within him at the thought that Skywalker was so close to the same path and yet obtained what he himself was denied.

Skywalker was nearly a Sith. If a handful of things had been different, he could have been as dark as Dooku… and, yet, he retained the benefits of the light that Dooku lingered after. Family. Loyalty. He had them both, and he didn't deserve it—Dooku deserved it as much as he did.

It so easy to despise him, even to the point where he will deny Skywalker at least part of what he gained, even if denying it will wound Dooku as well. And that… is Kenobi. Dooku does care for him. He will admit that to himself. The man is as close to family as he has left. He regrets what he will do to Kenobi, certainly, but the idea of winning a small victory in the midst of the greatest loss he has ever suffered—that is too great a pull to deny. And it's not as if he's condemning Kenobi to die. No, he'll be cared for. Alive. A mercy that Dooku would not have given anyone else.

Is he trading his last chance at redemption in exchange for revenge and power? Most certainly, but he is too far gone now to chose any differently. He may hate the decision—and himself—but he is content to regret it.

No, Skywalker will not learn Kenobi's location from him, and in that, he will have at least one final hold on the galaxy.

* * *

Escape gives Obi-Wan something to focus on. His mind always lingered on the possibility, but when an actual plan forms, it is easier to envision it feasibly occurring. He knows he's obsessing over it, planning it continually in his mind, waiting until he has a meal that will be most convincing. It can't be something like soup—it must be something sturdier that could get lodged in his throat, conceivably blocking his airways.

The waiting is like a burning itch, keeping him awake for hours on end. That's not such an unwelcome prospect, not when sleep brings images of slaughter and carnage, of men begging him for mercy and—

No.

That is not—just, no. Not now. Not here.

Focus on escape. Later, there will be time to deal with the cracks in his mind. For now, he must simply concentrate on the first rule of war: stay alive. For now, all that matters is that he gets himself to safety, and by letting his thoughts settle on that, they do not settle elsewhere. Do not think on anything else. Nothing. Do not. Do. Not.

He gets his opportunity after a few day's wait. There is nothing particularly different about the night, at least not beyond the consistency of the food: he's served a good, hearty nerf stake, medium well, exactly how he likes it, and he does have to consider just how considerate it was of Dooku to make sure the meat he plans to choke on is exactly to his liking. No one can fault the man for his manners, mass murder and a bent for darkness aside.

Before he can drown in his own sarcasm, Obi-Wan sits down as he's done every night since he's been here, quietly, as though there is nothing different. Accordingly, he eats the first half of his meal in silence, picking at it moodily. Again, nothing out of the ordinary.

And, then, very purposefully, he chokes.

Not truly, of course. That would be entirely counter-productive. However, he'd like to think he makes a good show of it.

It's all very calculated. Gasp for air, clutch his neck, and act like he's working to cough. Then, stagger back from the table, knocking over his glass of muja juice in the process. Keep trying to cough. Don't breathe. That bit takes a good deal of self-discipline, but he trusts that his face is turning sufficiently red, and he can feel the tears squeezing out at the corners of his eyes at the lack of air.

At first, he doesn't believe that he's going to succeed. No one comes, and a minute passes. He counts, and everything truly _is _starting to blur—because he won't let himself breathe in fear of ruining the illusion—before the door finally zips open and "help" comes.

He knocks out the help—two clone troopers—before they have time to register that he is, in fact,breathing. In waiting so long, they had apparently assured themselves that he wouldn't have the will power to keep himself from breathing for that amount of time. Clearly, he's never worked with these clones. If he had, they'd have known better: after forcing himself to survive for months on end on the tasteless ration bars that were the staple of the Army of the Republic, breathing looks like a luxury, and, if he'd been asked after about six months in the field, one that could be traded for a decent meal.

"I thank you for your hospitality," he quips over his shoulder as he darts from the room, making for the hallway.

One would think that, having escaped from his room, he would now have a decently easy time of leaving the planet. The problem of course becomes, he has no idea _what _planet this is. He has no idea about anything, including how to get out of this building. Additionally, he has no weapons (unless he wishes to count the river stone, which at the moment, he doesn't, as a mind-wipe doesn't seem particularly imminent) and no concept of how many men Dooku left to guard him. It's conceivable that he could use a mind-trick in lieu of a weapon, but he wouldn't have put it past Dooku to also station droids to guard him for that very reason.

Ah, well, as he's often told Anakin, just because you know you're walking into trouble isn't a reason to avoid doing so. It simply requires the use of more caution. Listen to the Force. Think.

Truthfully, he would also appreciate a lightsaber.

Three hallways later and with the knowledge that, wherever he is, this building is stereotypically white in color, he finds himself almost wishing for a map over a weapon. Almost. If he had a weapon, he could probably threaten his way into gaining a map, so it's not entirely his first choice, but he certainly wouldn't turn the offer down.

Oddly enough, the building has, thus far, also proven to be only one floor. He'd expected to hit a turbolift at some point, which would have been useful, as those often led to things like roofs, from which he might have been able to get his bearings.

No such luck. Instead, he's just met with hallways and doors, and white floor after white floor. Someone really should do something with the interior decorating. Must buildings used for nefarious purposes always be either white, black, or a dull neutral? Honestly, he spends so much time running through them that it would at least be pleasant if he could enjoy the scenery.

Ten clones at least makes for a change from the white.

Pulling up short so quickly that his boots squeak in protest, he crosses his arms and waits, watching silently as they file across the hallway in front of him. Behind him, he hears more filing in. Regrettably, they must have pinpointed his location with whatever security that they have. _Good_ security, apparently.

"I'm almost flattered," he says offhandedly. "All of you were stationed to guard _me_? I must be more dangerous than I believed."

He receives no response at first, not that he really expected to. Clones were never much for engaging in verbal sparring with their opponents. They prefer to simply get the job done. It's disappointing, really—he does love a good verbal riposte.

And then one of the clones _does _step forward. It's impossible to distinguish identities based on the armor—not when the familiar marks he might have recognized were wiped away when the Republic was eliminated and new armor was assigned—and voices are no good either. Still, there's something familiar in the manner of the man before him, hidden in the nuances that it took Obi-Wan a very long time to learn.

"Those of us who fought alongside you know better, General."

General? Oh? "I rather think that I gave up that title," he points out, picking absently at a bit of dry skin on his hand in feigned boredom. Occasionally, he wonders if he's slightly crazy to be so cavalier in the face of such terrible odds, but he does suppose that it's something close to a brand of optimism. Anakin's influence, undoubtedly.

"General, we have orders to ensure that you remain securely in your quarters. We request that you accompany us back to them."

No loyalty. None at all, and he would very much like to know which of his former men he's facing at the moment. "I'm afraid I'll have to decline."

All in tandem, the clones raise their blasters. Presumably they're set to sun, but if he doesn't dodge quickly enough, he'll be forced to test that theory. Additionally, even stun stings, at least until one loses consciousness, and he doesn't particularly wish to encounter any more discomfort than he absolutely has to.

"Yes, well, before you shoot me, may I at least have the pleasure of knowing whom I am addressing?"

The clone pauses then, though his blaster doesn't waver. It remains trained steadily on Obi-Wan, as do the others, and he truly is getting considerably tired of these armed standoffs that he always seems to find himself in. It's disconcerting when he stops and realizes that the threat of a loaded blaster pointed at his head has become somewhat commonplace.

"Commander Cody, Sir."

And here he hadn't thought he had anything left to be surprised about. Though, perhaps he shouldn't have been. It makes perfect sense for Dooku to chose as his guard someone who knows him well—who knows what he's capable of. Also annoyingly, Obi-Wan himself taught Cody how to withstand mental manipulation. He'd trained him for that with the intention of helping him avoid mind tricks from someone like Dooku, but all the same, it means that mind tricks of his own are now out of the question. No, clearly it was very logical for Dooku to chose Cody, but there's something about seeing him turn his blaster back on the man who got him promoted in the first place that fosters a slow ache in his chest.

He'd known Cody had betrayed him. Anakin had told him when they'd been captured a few days after they'd been shot down. However, he'd never _seen _it—he'd been unconscious—and while he'd believed Anakin, there is something about seeing Cody's betrayal himself that undeniably stings.

"Hmm, well, your armor is certainly newer," he observes, stroking his beard with his hand. "I'm curious: do you consider this a promotion?"

"Please turn and face the wall, General. We have orders to see you securely held."

He can't quite avoid rolling his eyes, though it's more out of a tingling of bitterness than anything. "And you _always _follow orders. Yes, I'm aware. However, I'm rather inclined to _decline_."

If he were faced with stupider men, it might have taken them a moment to figure that quip out. Unfortunately, as Dooku clearly counted on, Cody _does _know him irritatingly well. Working closely with a person will do that, but then, Obi-Wan also thought working closely fostered loyalty. He was wrong on that count. Pity he wasn't wrong on this one.

"Last chance, General."

If this were a holovid, he'd probably wait until Cody and the clones started firing, just to enhance the dramatic effect. However, when facing this many of the clones, any advantage he can get is one that he needs. Those few seconds are crucial.

Besides, he doesn't intend to fight—he intends to run.

It's certainly not glamorous, but Obi-Wan would prefer to live, and any intelligent solider knows when retreat is the better option. No one likes to turn tail and flee, but, sometimes, it is just simply more logical.

Of course, run does not mean offence is strictly out of the question: he snags one of the clones blasters when he slams into him, smashing him to the side with a wave of the Force. Immediately, a barrage of blaster fire erupts behind him, but he's already moving, tearing down the hallway with speed fueled by the Force. It's only a short burst, however, and he finds himself diving around the next corner, still with no idea where he's going, how many men in total he's facing, or what he's going to do.

At least he has a weapon now. A blaster, unfortunately, but better than nothing.

He very nearly swears when he turns the corner and almost physically collides with a clone. It's really a matter of reflex to shoot, and, yes, these men _have _betrayed him, but he still feels a twinge of regret at taking their lives. They were _his _men, his comrades, and he was their leader. He would have died for them, and it's such a bitter twist that now he's forced to kill them instead.

This clone wasn't party to the chase, he notes. Instead, he was obviously guarding what appears to be an exit. Unfortunately, he likely isn't the only one guarding it: there's a good chance there will be someone else on the other side of the door, and while he could attempt a firefight and take his chances on that, he isn't Anakin.

He prefers subtle to glaringly obvious and violent.

The clone's armor is a bit big on him, but it's passable at least, and that's really all he needs. He's used to wearing the stiff metal anyhow, having donned select pieces of it during much of the war. That's at least one thing to be thankful for, as it's taught him how to move naturally in a suit that many would find constricting.

After stuffing the now armor-less body of the clone into a side room, Obi-Wan straightens up and forces his muscles back, tightening into the stiff, almost always at attention posture that he's seen the clones perfect. Just as the clones gain an advantage from their knowledge of him, he too can benefit from his knowledge of _them_.

However, there is no knowledge that will help him once speaking becomes necessary. He can't imitate a clone's voice adequately enough to be passable, but as far as problems go, it's a fairly minor one: he doesn't intend to stay here long enough for polite conversation to become necessary. Hopefully, he can navigate any questions with a simple nod or shake of his head.

For once, he appears to be in luck: when he palms the door open and is greeted by two more clones, they accept the curt nod he gives them as greeting enough. It seems the clone he's impersonating isn't known for his chattiness. Apparently, these clones also aren't expected to be scouring the area trying to find him. In a manner of thinking that's logical: someone has to remain in the control center.

And, oddly enough, he seems to have stumbled directly into said control center.

If his life were the sort of story his teachers in the crèche used to tell, he might scoff at the prospect. Surely this is _too _convenient. However, given the less-than-stellar hand that life has dealt him lately, it's really about time that _something _went his way.

Unfortunately, this gift of fate isn't exactly one that's easy to unwrap. Yes, he's found himself in the control center… and he's also discovered it's staffed with clones. Additionally, if he tries to send a transmission, no doubt Cody will be notified. In reality, what he's been given is a gift that could quite possibly kill him if he uses it: if he takes advantage of the situation he's found himself in, he'll give away his presence.

Of course, if he doesn't take advantage of it, he's in the same situation he was to begin with.

He might as well make a new sort of troubling situation. Monotony, after all, is so dull.

"You want to take me to the exit," he tells the two clones suddenly, wrapping the Force gently around their minds and soothing every doubt before it begins. But first…

Obediently, the two clones wait expectantly by the door as Obi-Wan connects to a very familiar secure channel. Frankly, the channel is far more familiar than he'd like: he's going to begin to despise connecting to Bail's secure com unit line if the only time he makes contact with him is when he's in a crisis.

Surprisingly quickly, Bail's face flickers to life in front of him, defined in the blue of a holo transmission. Immediately, Obi-Wan is struck by the expectancy on his face—the sort of hope that's there—and, truly, that's good to see, because it means they were holding out hope that something like this might happen.

That's good. Because honestly? He hadn't been entirely certain how long he could go before giving up hope himself.

He almost wants to laugh when Bail's expression twists into something hanging between surprise and horror. Understandable, considering that judging by appearances, Bail is staring at a clone over what is supposed to be a secure, uncompromised line.

For him, that can't be a comforting sight.

"Really, Senator, that's not the sort of greeting I was hoping for."

Bail's expression—well, why shouldn't Obi-Wan laugh about it? He's had so precious little to laugh about lately, and the downright shock that bursts onto Bail's features, visibly lightening them and removing a weight that, when lifted, makes him look ten years younger—it's almost comical… or perhaps he's simply been alone with only his own mind for company for a bit too long. _"Obi-Wan?"_

"Expecting someone else?"

"You can't—How?—Force, _no, _but we thought—!" Finally, he simply stops talking, staring at Obi-Wan blankly. He shakes his head slowly from side to side as if in disbelief, but beyond that, he expresses nothing.

If he had a little more time, Obi-Wan might take a moment to smirk. He's just left a politician at a loss for words. That is, in his mind, something of a victory.

However, humorous as that is, the circumstances are _not_; the gravity of the situation is pressing down upon him and, instinctively, he lets himself fall back into the mold of the Jedi Master that he isn't sure he deserves to be any longer. Calm. Collected. Efficient. "I need help, Bail. I don't know my location, but wherever I am, Dooku stationed a squad of clones to ensure that I remain here. Unfortunately, I'm sure this outgoing transmission on a line that hasn't been cleared will draw notice immediately. I need to leave before anyone comes to check. Can you trace the transmission?"

Whatever shock that momentarily stunned Bail Organa has faded: he nods sharply, all business, as he reaches for something out of Obi-Wan's line of sight. A few beeps follow, and then he glances back at Obi-Wan, nodding again, a little more firmly this time. "Yes."

He'll never admit just how much his stomach flips with relief when he hears that. "I have to go."

"We'll find you," Bail tells him firmly, with the sort of will that makes Obi-Wan wonder if Bail believes that he can make that happen just by determining in his mind that it _will_. Frankly, at this point, he doesn't care as long as someone shows up. "Be careful," Bail adds.

"Yes, well, it's a little late for that" he answers wryly, though he appreciates the sentiment all the same. Inclining his head quickly, he adds, "Tell Anakin it's Cody. Just so he knows what he's walking into." Because it _will_ be Anakin. Once he gets word that his master has been found, Obi-Wan knows he'll pitch a full-scale fit if Bail tries to dispatch anyone else, and he knows better than anyone that Anakin's tantrums can be _very _convincing.

It's harder than he'd like to admit to break the connection. After not seeing a friendly face for so long, he's loathe to stop talking with Bail, however irrational that is. If he keeps talking, he'll easily be caught, and he knows that, but—

But nothing. He's stronger than this. He is, because so many times, internal strength is a _decision_, and he's deciding that he won't let himself falter now. After how much he's been beaten up? He's certainly not letting all that effort go to waste.

"Take me to the exit," he says again to the clones, a little more strongly this time. The command is infused with every bit of will that he has: failure in this could have any number of consequences. Of course, he's lying to himself if he doesn't admit that success could have just as many as well: he has no idea what he's facing at the exit.

The clones do not deny him, and he thanks the Force that he never had the opportunity to teach these men how to withstand mental manipulation. If he had… if he had, he wouldn't be headed toward an area that he hopes will get him out of this place.

Of course, when they show him to the exit and he realizes just how close he actually was to it, he can't help but be irritated. It hardly takes them even three minutes to reach their destination… but it will take longer than that to get out.

He was right when he guessed that the door would have guards. He just hadn't thought there would be _this _many. Honestly, Dooku must have commissioned a whole company to guard him, because if there are this many clones in this entrance hangar alone? He can only imagine how many there are in total.

At least he knows he's found the main door.

Unfortunately, he also knows he's not going to be leaving undetected through it. Whether or not he looks like a clone, he won't be able to simply waltz out of this situation: he doesn't have the code to open the door. Regrettably, he also doesn't have a lightsaber to cut through it, and, even if he did, he doesn't have the time to do so without interference.

Right. Well, there are always other options. They'll be messier and may have a lower rate of success, but at this point, he's fairly certain he no longer has the luxury of being choosy.

Falling into formation with the other clones—and isn't it a good thing that he paid attention to their drills?—he surreptitiously scans the hangar looking for anything that could do some damage. Thankfully, it's a hangar: there's plenty that could do damage. He merely has to decide what will cause _him _the least amount of bodily harm while still inflicting maximum impact on his opponents.

If Anakin were choosing, he's well aware that his former padawan would likely deign the best option to be a complete annihilation: he'd blow the building up… and, oddly enough, the more Obi-Wan looks, the more he's beginning to think he doesn't have a much better choice. Subtly is entirely out of the question, and if he's going to be obvious, there's no reason not to be _completely _obvious, because he's starting to realize that just about any of his options put his own life at risk. If he's going to put his life on the line, he might as well insure that the job gets done, yes?

Yes. This is necessary.

Having decided, he peers out from under his helmet at a fuel tank on the far side of the room. It's not quite as close to the door as he'd like, but it'll do. Rupturing it… that'll be a bit harder. Thankfully, it's obviously pressurized; if he can get the pressure to rise to the point where it explodes, he can do some substantial damage.

Again, he wishes he had Anakin to assist him. Mayhem is more his former padawan's strength, and the sort of diversion that Anakin's specializes in would be most welcome at this point. It's a pity that's not an option: while Obi-Wan is confident in his ability to sufficiently imitate Anakin's preferred brand of fighting—glaringly obvious and aggressive—he'd rather play to his own strengths. He just… he doesn't have enough to go on for anything else. He's tired. He's failed a great deal lately, and chances… he'd rather not take them if he can possibly accomplish the same results with methods he's more comfortable with.

It's so easy to lie to himself and say that line of thinking isn't an indication of something festering inside of him.

Moving rigidly with the other clones, he remains in formation, breaking off with them when his unit is assigned an area to search. It's not in the direction of the fuel tank which, unfortunately, means he's going to have to break cover. Unfortunately, he still doesn't have a sufficient plan. The fuel is pressurized, so it could be made to explode if punctured… but a tank that big is going to need more than just a blaster shot to rupture it. _Far _more. It would need something substantial… something like the guns on the ships are capable of, or even an actual ship careening into it.

That may be something he can arrange.

No one is going to expect him to try to simply take down the entire hangar. They will, however, expect him to try to _reach_ the hangar. If he shows his face, they'll immediately focus on him… and won't expect a mind-tricked clone to subtly enter a fighter, aim it's fire at a fuel tank, and then finish up by smashing the ship itself into the aforementioned tank.

Perhaps he has learned the art of the obvious from Anakin after all.

Taking a deep breath, he reaches gently inside the mind of one of the men next to him, coaxing, just enough until he feels the mind give against his mental touch. He molds it then, murmuring suggestions with the Force, and while there might have initially been some resistance, the clone yields quickly. So many people do: it's a bit disturbing how so many beings are almost subconsciously comforted by mind-tricks—by the sensation of being told what to do, and of the freedom of blindly doing it. There's no thinking involved. It's very easy, and, in a strange way, comforting.

Once he's certain the clone has taken to his suggestion, he takes a deep breath and stops walking, letting the clones slip by him as he breaks with formation. They jostle him a bit as they brush by, trying to avoid running into him, and the movement breaks their ranks. No going back now. Not since he's called attention to himself.

Best to barrel straight ahead then, he supposes.

"Hello there," he says cheerily, right after he unhooks his helmet and tosses it aside. It skids across the ground, sliding to a stop at the feet of another clone.

Silence.

And then everything descends into pandemonium.

Calling on the Force, he propels himself upward, out of the mess of clones, and hits the ground running once he's clear. Already, shots are ripping through the air around him, and he barely manages to roll behind a stack of crates, knocking one askew in the process. The shots won't kill him, of course—the clones obviously have orders to fire on stun—but if he's unconscious when the hangar explodes, or if he isn't able to shield himself with the Force, he doesn't think that particular instruction will matter much.

Risking a glance over the top of the box, he lays down a line of fire at the advancing clones. He doesn't need to keep them back long. Just long enough to let the clone he manipulated get on board, and—yes, just like that. No one notices the man that slips into the fighter, and no one registers the fighter as it comes to life under the practiced hands of man whose mind is not his own.

Just a little longer. Just a few more shots, and, _now_, he leaps forward, tumbling over the boxes, rushing desperately toward the door of a storage unit, firing over his shoulder. There's a muffled grunt, a cry—he must have hit someone—and the sound of a ship firing, finding its mark. His senses are assaulted with the sounds of metal protesting, groaning, and beginning to rip apart. Shots keep following him, and just as he reaches the door to a storage unit, one clips his shoulder. As predicted, it's stun, and, well, it does _stun _him, though not as effectively as it would have if it had hit him straight on.

He thinks he hears himself cry out as he loses control of his limbs and slams down into the floor, skidding across the threshold of the storage unit. Shut the door, shut the _door—_he reaches for the Force frantically, pulling it to him, and somehow yanks the door shut, just as the sound of a unified mass panic from the clones erupts in the other room, sounding just like an explosion.

No, not _like _an explosion. It _is _an explosion. And it's not the clones.

Obi-Wan has just enough time to take a breath and draw the Force around him as much as he's able when half stunned. Then the noise of destruction erupts, the sound reaching him right before the wall bends inward, and the intensity of it slams him back, just as the ceiling falls. Something hits him, and he can't tell where he's hurting. He just knows he is. Is he going to die? Now? After everything? Force, please, _please_—

_Don't let it end like this._


	38. Chapter 37

**Disclaimer: **I own nothing.

**Feedback**: If you'd be so kind as to leave some, I'll do my best to reply.

**Notes:** ROTS AU.

Star the Foxhound: I seem to have a tendency to write cliffhangers, don't I?

yellow 14: Oh, Anakin has definitely rubbed off on Obi-Wan. He's got to learn the art of the obvious from somewhere. About the droids: I thought about putting them in, but in the movies they never really seemed like real threats unless they came in massive overwhelming numbers, and I couldn't see Dooku commissioning a whole droid army to guard Obi-Wan. And, yes, it is a good sign that Obi-Wan feels guilty.

Booknerd101: Oh, Anakin still might have to do some rescuing… just not as much as he thought. And I have read the first book of that series—I haven't had time to read any others, though I'd like to.

Kingsdaughter613: Thanks for reading! I'll try to get a chance to read your stories, but I can't guarantee that: college keeps me pretty busy, and in my spare time, I'm usually either working on writing or editing what I've written. Heh, and, yes, choking can be very dangerous. I'm first aid certified as well, though I hope I never have to use it.

charliebrown1234: Nah, I didn't kill him.

Kingsdaughter613: I'm just now realizing how I seem to like cliffhangers very, very much.

mtfrosty: Oh, the cliffhangers. Sorry!

Mirror and Image: Haha, I was picturing Leia making a comment about his height too! :) It is also interesting that Obi-Wan can still get the job done, isn't it? I always found that interesting about his character. For example, in ROTS when he had to confront Anakin. Most people would have just gone and cried in a corner somewhere, or taken a mindset of revenge when they faced the person who had betrayed them. Obi-Wan didn't do either—he just did what he thought his duty was, no matter how much it hurt him personally. The verbal sparing will come in a few chapters, as will the conclusion for the clones—although there's some stuff about them in this chapter too.

pronker: I also always wondered about what Dooku would have done… Haha, no, Obi-Wan would not, under any circumstances, want his planning to be wasted.

AndrossKenobi: I can't see Obi-Wan ever passively waiting for rescue. Sure, he takes it if it comes, but he's pretty self-sufficient. And you're right—this part is drawing to a close. Actually, I'd say I'm within 5-7 updates or so of having the story done, unless, of course, I get to editing it and decide I don't like how I ended it.

ILDV: Thanks!

Torli : Oh, yes, Anakin is definitely fretting.

MobiObi: Aww, Waxer and Boil! I love them!

Random: Hmm, it's supposed to be a bit confusing since it's from the perspective of Obi-Wan, who is experiencing it very quickly, but I'm not sure if I meant it in a way that doesn't allow you to picture it. I'll have to think about that.

Random Under the Sun: Yes, at least Anakin has a heart. And I have to admit, I did have a good laugh writing Obi-Wan blatantly imitating Anakin. Cody will get something of a heart-to-heart with both Anakin and Obi-Wan—he'll get one with Obi-Wan in this chapter, actually. 3PO would still be in Padme's possession.

* * *

Anakin is not a morning person. And a call at five in the morning? Not appreciated. Whatever Bail Organa wants—and it's probably more logistics, because this is not the first time Organa has called him this early for that sort of thing—it can wait. He groans, allowing himself just one indulgent moment of self-pity in which he wonders why no one can ever call him at a _convenient _hour, and then he untangles himself from Padme and reaches for his comlink. What does Bail have to say now? Tell him that Dooku's whining again maybe? Berate him for the fact that he never bothered with a debriefing? Something else that's equally as fun?

Or none of the above.

"We found him."

"What?" If Bail is saying something other than what Anakin's thinks he's saying, Anakin will kill him. He will. Because if Bail is saying something different? It's not like Obi-Wan will be around to berate him for it anyway.

Though Bail sounds rushed and worried, there's excitement in his voice, and hope to match. "Obi-Wan. He called us, and we traced the transmission. He's—he needs help getting out, but—"

"Give me the coordinates. _Now_."

He vaguely registers Padme sitting up in bed, eyes wide and surprised, and hair adorably mussed, but all he can really concentrate on are Bail's words, ringing like a promise. Obi-Wan. Found. She looks just as shocked and certainly just as hopeful. Already, she's climbing out of bed, reaching for something that he doesn't bother to notice. He's already too busy himself.

Scrambling, he pulls on his clothes with one hand, his other still clutching the comlink. "I want a ship ready by the time I get to the hangar. And I'll get there soon. _Very_ soon. Don't make me wait."

"Anakin." There are traces of hesitancy in his voice now, but Anakin hardly regards the,. Obi-Wan's been found. Whatever Bail's worried about, he'll fix it. All that matters is that they've got a lock on his master's location. "There's a good chance you're walking into a mess."

"Sure. Get me those coordinates."

"Anakin, you need to be prepared for what you might find—"

"I'm prepared. Now make sure my ship is too."

He cuts Bail's transmission before he can issue any more well intended and entirely irritating cautions. It's not like he hasn't pulled Obi-Wan out of scrapes before. He's used to seeing his master beat up. After Jabiim? He can't look much worse than that. And he certainly can't be in a much worse mental state than he was after the excursion to Utapau that Dooku sent him on. Obi-Wan has always been able to be patched up before. There's no reason this will be any different.

"I'm coming with you."

From where he's standing across the room, hurriedly finishing with his tunics, he spares Padme a glance. "You don't need—"

"I'm coming."

When she's got a look like that on her face? Yeah, she's coming. He's not taking the time he knows he'll have to invest if he wants to argue. Truthfully, he doesn't even really _want _to argue: as certain as he is that Obi-Wan will be fine, there's always that chance. That's war, and that's life. There's always a chance for the worst, and if that comes to pass, he'd rather not be alone.

"Fine. You ready?"

Somehow, she's managed to dress far faster than him. Something fairly simple, almost reminiscent of a Jedi's uniform: brown, with slightly lighter colored leggings

and sturdy boots, plus two leather straps that cross over her chest and wrap around her waist. A small metal accent rests just over the cross of the straps. "Are _you_?"

He doesn't answer, but just heads for the door, Padme following behind him. They both break into a light jog once they leave the room, and so what if people are looking at them strangely as the rush past? Personally, he thinks it's strange that any of them are voluntarily up at five in the morning anyway… though in all likelihood, they've probably been up all night trying to clean up the mess from the impromptu offensive that he launched yesterday.

Maybe he should actually be thanking them rather than questioning their mental states.

As Anakin expected, there's a ship ready and waiting in the hangar. It's a small one, Nubian in design, and he gives a quick nod of thanks to the maintenance personnel as he and Padme hurry onboard. He's doubly thankful when he realizes they've already run a pre-flight check for him. It's bad form not to do one himself, but he really doesn't have the patience right now. The ship's fine, and he can't afford to waste any more time.

"Strap yourself in," he tells Padme, throwing her a quick look and noting that she's already done that. Smart women, his wife.

"You have the coordinates?" she asks, fingers skimming over the control panel as she familiarizes herself with the settings.

Yes. Right on his comlink. He pulls it out and mentally thanks Bail Organa, then plugs them in.

"Ready?"

She nods, and while she's smiling, he can see the tell-tale signs of stress in the pull of the skin by her eyes. She's thinking hard, probably wondering what will happen if they find something they don't want to. But, still, she smiles, gives him an encouraging nod, and then sits back, preparing to act as co-pilot. Her worry is hidden for the moment.

Anakin hides his too as they surge up out of the hangar, into space, and a little closer to Obi-Wan's location with every passing second. It's always like that in his life: a little closer, but never quite far enough. Soon, but not immediately. Too often, he's too late. Not this time, though. He won't be too late this time.

"What are you thinking about?"

Padme's voice startles him, not because she's said anything particularly startling, but more because he wasn't expecting the question. What _is_ he thinking about? What is he _really_ thinking about?

It's not entirely Obi-Wan. It's… well, it _is_, but it's also what his master represents. It's what he's lost. And, as always, that leads back to one thing.

"My mother, I think."

Padme just nods, demeanor quiet and soft. She exudes understanding and empathy, and of all the things he loves about her, this might be one that he values most.

"I still miss her, Padme. I miss how she smelled; how she rocked me to sleep; and the way she'd be so casual with her affection, like she always had more than enough for me. She was just—she was home, and she was safety… and when she died while I was holding her, I felt like all of that was crumbling under my touch. I guess… Obi-Wan was a part of that. He wasn't—he was never—Mom, but after I left Tatooine, he was all I had. And when I lost her, I think I was afraid I was going to lose the safety I had in him, too. It felt like I had, even if he was still there. I just—I was more afraid I was going to lose him. I was more afraid I was going to lose _you_. I wanted to feel safe again—sure that the people I loved weren't going to leave, you know?"

It's a good thing he set the ship to autopilot once they broke the atmosphere, because Padme slips out of her seat and settles herself in his lap. Sighing a little, she rests her head on his shoulder when he wraps his arms around her, and he closes his eyes, inhaling the sweet scent of her hair.

"People die, Ani," she says finally. "They do. But if you love them enough to have it hurt when they leave, that means they've given you something, and whatever that something is, that doesn't die with them."

"What they leave isn't _them_. It's only their impact on _me."_

"And wouldn't you rather use the good they invested in you rather than allow it to be overshadowed by the bitterness and pain of having lost them? Either way, Anakin, they're physically gone, but you get to decide if what they invested in you remains."

"I'd rather have _them_."

She sighs again and presses her face into his neck. Her skin is warm, and he leans down into her, pressing his face more deeply into her hair. Somehow, she smells like sunlight, and maybe the fields of Naboo. Like that day on Naboo.

If he could pick one memory to define her, it would be that day.

"I know," she replies gently. "I understand. But if I were to die, Ani, I'd want you to keep on being the good man that I love. I'm sure your mother wants the same for the little boy she let go in order to give him a better life. And if Obi-Wan dies, I can't believe he'd want anything different. He'd want you to keep being the Jedi he trained you to be. He'd want you to keep being the man he raised."

He would, he thinks, running a hand down Padme's arm. It's exactly what Obi-Wan would want, and Anakin does understand that, but the part of him that loves so fiercely still can't accept the idea that he might have to content himself with a remnant of the people he loves. It's not enough to have them live on in what he's become. He needs_ them_.

"The man he raised wouldn't accept failure as a possible option. Obi-Wan never learned to accept defeat unless he'd exhausted all his possible options, and even some that weren't possible."

That draws a chuckle out of her. "I suppose not. And, Anakin, I believe we'll find him. I do. But if we don't, I need to know that you'll honor what he taught you."

_I need to know that you won't do what you did when your mother died_, she doesn't say. And she's right. If his mother knew what he'd done… If he did that again, this time for Obi-Wan, his master would—there's probably not much to describe how Obi-Wan would feel about something like that, and even if he never knew… No, he won't do that to Obi-Wan.

_But Obi-Wan did it for you, _some part of his whispers. _He killed for you_. _Won't you do the same for him? If he dies, avenge his death?_

Oh, he'd like to. Whatever being harms his master, he'd like to make them regret it so deeply that they feel it in every amputated limb, every slice. He'd like to make them suffer, and even if it didn't bring Obi-Wan back, it would be something at least.

But it would never give him peace. He knows that—knows that the guilt haunts as much as the pain it replaced, and the two only combine. It's worse that way. Losing his mother was terrible, and living with what he did after doesn't make it better. And Obi-Wan—what he did, it's different. Obi-Wan killed to keep him alive, not to fulfill a need for vengeance. More importantly, it nearly destroyed him. It would destroy Anakin, too: he can't change things by causing more death. Darkness just breeds darkness.

It sounds so simple.

But it's not. And it's never easy.

Nothing's ever easy, but as he closes his eyes and holds his breath, just for a moment, he considers how close he came to becoming something he doesn't want to be. If Palpatine had gotten his way, if things had gone just a bit differently…

He cannot spit in the face of the second chance he has been given, and if he loves his master at all, he'll make sure he's a good man for _himself_. He can't follow the light for Padme or Obi-Wan. He has to make it his own, and if he does—if he can—that's the greatest expression of love he can give them.

"I love you," he murmurs to his wife, pressing a kiss to her hair. "And I love him, too. And love—that's the light side."

He can feel the curve of her smile against his neck.

* * *

Obi-Wan's scenery doesn't change much when he drifts back to awareness. It was black before; now, it's still black, with a few strands of light leaking through the rubble that surrounds him. Before, he wasn't really aware of the black; now, he knows just how dark it truly is.

Biting out a curse in Nelvaanese, he sinks his fingers into the ground under him and tries to steady himself. The outline of bits of rubble maps his vision, but the further he looks—and that's not far, given how confined the space is—the more he realizes that there's a pocket around him where nothing collapsed.

That's not coincidence. Apparently, even half-stunned, he still managed to create a space with the Force. If he hadn't, he wouldn't have enough cognitive function left to even consider what he did or didn't do.

And what _did _he do? His goal was to open the door of the compound, and while he supposes he did that, he also managed to collapse the main hangar. Truthfully, though, he knew he would. He'd hoped to be able to make a pocket with the Force and then dig himself out, but, as he's beginning to realize, that might not be as simple as he'd like.

With a groan, he pulls himself forward, shifting bruised muscles and cut flesh. A quick exploration turns up a little bleeding, but there's nothing life-threatening, and, more importantly, nothing that will physically stop him from completing his exit. This isn't the first time he's been hit with shrapnel; it likely won't be the last. He can deal with it.

Getting his legs under him, he pushes forward a bit more, stretching for the areas where light is managing to seep through the rubble. If there's light, it means the main hangar hasn't collapsed completely, and if he can just get out there, he might be able to make it out.

He could also wait for Anakin to come get him. It might be the better course of action. Unfortunately, there are a variety of things that could go wrong before Anakin arrives: the rubble could shift, crushing him; the clones who weren't in the hangar could find him; Anakin could be delayed, and Obi-Wan could die of dehydration. There are too many possibilities.

Wait for Anakin? No, thank you. He'll save himself.

Carefully—because he doesn't want to pull any more debris down on himself—his fingers slip into the hole where the light is coming in. As far as he can tell, it's part of what used to be the wall, though it's hard to tell. For all intents and purposes, his surroundings are really just a mass of broken, tangled mess.

He allows himself a curse when the metal cuts his hand. It's not bad, but enough to sting, and, honestly, he's far too used to the feel of his own blood as it runs over his skin, warm and a little sticky.

The good news is that, even though it cuts him, the metal gives under his hand, and the hole widens. He falls back then, panting, but tries again once he's caught his breath, this time with the Force. It's a delicate thing: if he presses too much, he could make everything collapse; if not enough, he won't accomplish anything.

The debris creaks ominously, but he manages to slowly shift it aside. It's not easy, and perspiration beads on his forehead, condensing the longer he works, but he keeps at the painstakingly tedious process until he's moved enough metal to get a look outside.

There's not much to see. Parts of the ceiling have come down, but for the most part, the structure has held, though for how much longer, he can't be sure. The explosion melted a large portion of the infrastructure: he can see support beams twisted and bubbled with the heat, and, logically, that makes them less stable. The building could still fall, as evidenced by the parts of the ceiling that already have.

The parts that have come down obscure his vision of a good deal of the hangar, but as he works to make the hole in front of him larger, he does note that the clones weren't as lucky as the parts of the building which are still intact. They can't withstand an explosion like metal can, and he tries not to dwell too much on the melted armor and sickly sweat scent of roasted flesh. Someday, he will never have to smell that again. Believing anything else—it's not an option if he wants to keep his sanity.

Once the hole is big enough, he leans forward, putting most of his weight on his elbows, and drags his body forward. It's difficult going, but he grits his teeth and moves, pulling himself until he manages to work his way out of what's left of the storage closet that he dove into.

Yes, and just a little _more—_

Panting heavily, he collapses just outside the closet, pressing his head down to the floor and closing his eyes. Just breathe. In. Out. In. Out. He's making progress. Just rest for a moment, then keep going. He's had worse than this before, and he probably will again.

And Force help him, that's far too accurate, because when he draws in a ragged breath and glances up, preparing to coax his unwilling body into attempting to rise, he's met with a pair of legs and, upon closer examination, a body to match. He'd recognize the metal of clone armor even without its markings, which is rather useful, as the markings have changed. New Empire, end of the Republic. Apparently, that called for new uniformity. New logos. Sort of like a club. The urge to laugh at his own inner joke leaves him wondering if he's becoming a bit hysterical. It's possible after everything he's gone through.

"Cody."

He's not wearing a helmet. Instead, his face is bare, and though Cody's physical features are the same as any of the other clones, Obi-Wan cannot mistake the subtle nuances: it's more than a haircut, but is something deeper, a certain way Cody's thinned lips twist when he's thinking, or maybe how he carries himself with that unmistakable capacity for leadership that Obi-Wan first saw in him.

"If you please," Obi-Wan says, collapsing back down onto his stomach, because he really just doesn't want to make the effort. On a lesser level, it's also something of an insult—or Cody will take it as one—that he doesn't want to bother to rise and give Cody the respect he'd give an equal. "I'd really prefer that you make this quick."

"Our orders are not to kill you, General," Cody says stiffly, gazing down at Obi-Wan with a kind of intensity that isn't born from combat. It's different—something Obi-Wan hasn't seen in Cody before—and that unsettles him, because he cannot predict what he doesn't know.

He cannot predict any of this, and the more he stops to observe the situation, the more seems out of place. Cody is alone. There is no line of clones behind him, prepared for whatever orders their commander may issue. There is no one but Cody, standing above him, considering him with dark eyes that Obi-Wan doesn't understand.

"Dooku was captured," Cody says evenly after a few moments. "But my orders still stand. Dooku had foresight that his predecessor did not. We have instructions to stand down for no one but him, regardless of the situation."

Lovely. Dooku planned well enough to keep the clones loyal to his commands, even if he was removed from power. It's understandable that Palpatine, who was still masquerading as Supreme Chancellor couldn't do that: an order of that nature would have been blatantly dictatorial. He already accomplished quite a feat in managing to secretly include an order that would eliminate the Jedi—issuing another order that, for all acting purposes, made the clones his own personal pet army would have been nearly impossible.

Dooku was under no such restrictions.

"And you always follow orders, don't you, Cody?" he spits out, a little ashamed of the venom in his voice—so ashamed that he swipes his arm roughly across his mouth, trying to wipe away what's not even physical.

Cody says nothing. He simply stares down at Obi-Wan, unmoving except for the very subtle rise and fall of his chest. "We were made that way, General. We are what one man—the product of your Order—commissioned us to be. Can you truly fault us for that?"

Now, he pushes himself up, fighting against the pain, because even if it's a slightly interesting way to insult Cody, Obi-Wan won't suffer the personal indignation of lying at this man's feet. If he's going to be dragged back to his cell, he won't do it in a way that seems like he's a beaten man.

"I thought of you as men. Not machines. Obviously, I was wrong. You don't have free will any more than a droid does."

Cody blinks once, then again, rapidly, but seconds later, there is nothing to show for it. He is as cold as ever, all business, and Obi-Wan doesn't understand how he could have seen otherwise. This man was never his friend—was never anything more than a soldier under his command, and if they ever joked, ever shared a kind word, it was because Cody knew that was what Obi-Wan wanted. It was only another form of obeying the authority over him. Obi-Wan wanted to see the clones as something more human, and they let him, because things worked better that way. But it was only that. Nothing more. Only following orders, if indirectly. Given the circumstances, he can't believe anything else.

Finally, Cody gives him a stiff, acknowledging nod. "Maybe you're right, General. But is it so unbelievable to think that, if allowed a choice, a man might decide to choose to follow? There's a freedom in that, General. No conscience. No guilt. You only do what you're told, and at the end of the day, you can tell yourself it's for a good cause. To save lives. For the Republic."

Sitting now, Obi-Wan swallows and takes in a gulp of air. Nearly chokes on it, too. "Tell me how this is for the Republic." Under him, the hangar feels strangely cold, like the death that's hanging in the air is settling into the floor.

If Sidious had accomplished what he'd wanted to, maybe then the clones could have believed they were still fighting for the security of the people of the Republic. Perhaps they could have convinced themselves of that. Obi-Wan will never know. What Dooku has done, however—no one could believe that was for the Republic.

"It's not," Cody answers. Just like that. So simple. "The Republic is dead."

"Well then, Cody," he says, laughing now, even though there is absolutely nothing humorous about any of this. "Well, what is your justification? Is a free conscience worth your free will?"

Almost never has he seen Cody smile. Seeing it now-the expression is as stiff as unused leather. It doesn't sit right on his features—it's far too bitter of an expression to enhance anyone's face.

"You were the best leader I've ever had, Sir. I respect you."

Again, Obi-Wan is tempted to laugh, and he feels almost light-headed at the absurdity. "Oh?"

"I did, but we have our orders, Sir. I won't disobey. None of us will. You may not understand, but duty is what holds our loyalty. That, more than any sort of programming to obey, is what was instilled in us. Our loyalty is to our duty."

"And your duty is to obey your orders."

"Yes, Sir."

"And your orders are to keep me here."

"Yes, Sir."

"Cody, you do understand that because Dooku's orders are permanent—because he gave you an order to never accept directions from anyone but him—no one is going to be able to override that?"

"I am aware of that, Sir."

"Then you know that whoever replaces Dooku will have no use for you."

Again, a bitter smile pulls at Cody's mouth. There is nothing soft about this man, not even tissue that should be. Obi-Wan half expects that, if he were to touch Cody's mouth, it would be solid. No warm, living flesh there.

"Yes, Sir, I know that."

"Unyielding loyalty to your duty will get you killed."

"It will." And then, with no explanation, Cody reaches down onto his belt and draws his blaster. He fingers it almost fondly for a moment, staring down at it with dark eyes and that same, frightening smile. Then he tosses it at Obi-Wan's feet. "I'm afraid I can't let you leave, General."

What? Though his mind is swamped in confusion, Obi-Wan reaches forward and draws the blaster to him. As soon as his hand closes around it, Cody draws the spare that's on his other hip. "Mine is set for stun," he says calmly. "Yours is not."

And that's just… just…

Everything shifts, pieces fall into place, and Obi-Wan is suddenly facing a startling picture. It's a terrible mosaic of pieces of half-truths and lies, of betrayal, and of things that don't even have a name, but, oddly, he understands.

The clones were made to be nothing more than soldiers. They only ever had one purpose, one thing that _needed _them: their duty. It was never a solid, tangible thing at all, but it was all they had, and why wouldn't they follow it? Obi-Wan hadn't understood when Cody told him he'd respected him. It had seemed so worthless at that moment, but now—now it makes sense. In some fashion, for Cody, there _is _a loyalty to his old general in his mind. He cannot make it override his sense of commitment to what he has been told to do by those with the ultimate authority, but he can attempt to carry out his duty while still giving Obi-Wan a fighting chance. He won't violate his ultimate allegiance, but he will not betray his lesser one, either. It's a compromise of sorts.

But if Obi-Wan does not take advantage of it? He has no doubt that Cody _will _drag him back to his cell.

"I won't kill you," Obi-Wan murmurs, mouth suddenly very dry.

Cody just nods. "Don't then. But make sure I can't follow you. Because make no mistake, General, I _will_."

"Fair enough." Slipping his fingers downward, he carefully shifts the blaster out of Cody's line of sight and then, with trembling fingers, changes it to stun. "Fair enough," he says again, then watches as Cody nods, raising his blaster to aim it unerringly at Obi-Wan.

Obi-Wan shoots first, just like Cody knew he would.

His shot hits Cody just over the heart, and the man falls as heavily as if the shot had been a real one rather than stun. He'll be out for a while, and even as Obi-Wan drags himself to his feet, he can't stop thinking about how Cody came alone, about how he knew this would happen—_planned _for it to happen. How strange that a person can be loyal to something—to an obscure concept like duty—without liking it, and without truly wanting to serve it. They serve because they are caught up by it, like Obi-Wan was caught by Dooku, and like Dooku was caught by the dark side. He had no reason to obey Dooku beyond a loyalty to Anakin. He did not like Dooku. He did not want to obey him any more than Cody wishes to obey his current commands, but he _did_, because he loved the thing that gave Dooku a hold over him. He loved Anakin; Cody loves his unfailing loyalty to a commitment that he was born into. He has made it part of who he is, and he will not undo it now.

Still, when it comes right down to it, Obi-Wan has every right to take the blaster and put a real bolt through Cody's head… but he doesn't. Certainly, it would stop Cody from following him, but that reasoning easily falls through in the fact that when other clones find their commander's body, they'd pursue him anyway. The only real reason he has for killing Cody is because it's what Cody probably deserves, and because, after everything, Obi-Wan would very much like to be the one who metes out justice.

Instead, he tucks the blaster into his belt and turns toward the exit. Limps, really, but it's all the same at this point. After the war, Ventress, and Dooku, he's getting disturbingly used to injuries at this point.

Injured or not, he's going to get to that exit, because, given the choice, he'd rather wait outside for Anakin to come pick him up.

And he does mean "pick up"—because this is _not_ under any circumstances to be considered another rescue. Anakin is far too full of himself already.

Gritting his teeth, he makes it to the door… or what's left of it. Under other circumstances, he might laugh about the fact that it's so easy to leave once one makes it by the rows upon rows of clones and blows the hangar up. He's not laughing now, though. Nothing is funny.

The only type of humor he's going to experience at the moment is the black kind, because as he stumbles out of the hangar and into the sun, he realizes just where he is.

"Honestly?" he gasps, tripping and finally giving in and going to his knees. After everything? "Honestly, Dooku?" he says to no one, fixing his eyes on the pale blue sky that's so far above him, just peeking down at him over the top of a sinkhole's walls. "And here I didn't think you could _get_ any more sadistic."


	39. Chapter 38

**Disclaimer: **I own nothing.

**Feedback**: If you'd be so kind as to leave some, I'll do my best to reply.

**Notes:** ROTS AU.

random: I would think there would be four more, yes. Heh, I love that you add bantering with Dooku about philosophy as one of the torturous things that Obi-Wan has had to endure. At this point, though, stuff is going to start to look up for him. It's going to go slowly, and it won't be perfect, but it's getting better.

David-El: Hmm, interesting thought. I'm not sure I view the Chosen One quite that way, but I like the idea.

Mirror and Image: I should have made that clear—yes, it's a few weeks later. Oh, and Boga! I should totally have put that in! The outfit isn't foreshadowing anything—it's just a little reference to the movies. I like those, you know. :)

Corni378: Well, this chapter isn't as bad a cliffhanger—I gave you all a break. :) I feel like the clones have to be complicated somehow—no one can be so loyal to their "brothers" and still be able to off their commanders with a single order. There's got to be more there. It's an interesting concept. And I'm glad I'm making you like Anakin/Padme at least a little bit. I think it's a pairing with a lot of potential that never really got fleshed out AT ALL in the movies.

pronker: Mmm, yes, and the same goes for Obi-Wan—he may not be quite the same as Anakin remembers.

Onesmartgoalie: That realization is a pretty big step for him. And Obi-Wan is on Utapau.

yellow 14: If anyone can reach Anakin, it'd be Padme. I think he's doing a pretty good job progressing, though. Oh, and by the way, the stuff with the clones isn't quite over yet.

Star the Foxhound: You'll get an Anakin/Cody conversation too.

AndrossKenobi: He kind of does, doesn't he?

charliebrown1234: Definitely the duct tape. It's always duct tape. Poor guy, though—I really do always seem to get him beat up, don't I? And the story I'm working on now… doesn't exactly lighten up on that.

Kingsdaughter613: They've got their own sort of subversion and loyalty, though, but I agree—it's very much built on the facts of what they've been programmed with.

Booknerd101: I don't think Obi-Wan loves his sense of humor… And I'm glad you're enjoying Padme/Anakin—I think it's a pairing with a lot of potential, given the complexities of both their characters.

Raeigh: Sure is.

Random Under the Sun: Yes, Cody does know it. You've got to give the guy credit—he takes his duty _really _seriously. I also agree about Padme—I don't see her as either of those things. I think she's a strong female character while still being quite sympathetic. I quite like her, actually.

* * *

Utapau. Dooku put Obi-Wan on Utapau. Part of Padme almost wants to laugh, because the situation—it's just so completely devoid of humor. Sending Obi-Wan here is _sick_, and, yes, she's bitter enough—this conflict has dragged on long enough—that's she's at the point where it almost seems that a humorless laugh is the only kind she gets anymore. By the Force, she hopes Obi-Wan never made it outside the compound; never realized where he was; and, if he did, hasn't been alone long enough to think on it.

She can see the realization in Anakin's face when he finally registers just what planet the coordinates that he logged into the computer are bringing them to. To the best of her knowledge, her husband has never been to Utapau, but judging by the way the color of his face has drained to something nearly sickly, he knows what happened here. He knows the significance.

And Padme—she will never forget. Obi-Wan, standing amongst all those bodies. She would _like _to forget.

"I'll land the ship as near to where his signal came from as I can," Anakin tells her, his voice surprising hoarse. "But we should avoid detection if we can. We'll need the ship in order to leave."

"I wouldn't worry," she comments dryly, eyeing the screen. "His signal came from the bottom of one of those sinkholes. And by bottom, I mean at the very bottom, and then some."

"An _underground_ bunker at the _bottom_ of a sinkhole?" he repeats, carefully navigating the ship through the atmosphere of the planet. "Dooku outdid himself. It's really a pretty clever place—it'd be hard to just stumble across, and few scanners will reliably detect something that far down, especially when it's also underground."

She just nods. "As long as you land outside the sinkhole, you'll be doing as well as you can."

"It wouldn't surprise me if they were watching the top of it, just in case."

They probably are. For whatever reason, Dooku is remarkably set on keeping Obi-Wan hidden, and while he may have attributed that to his desire to torment Anakin, Padme can't help but wonder why he didn't just kill off Obi-Wan—kill him off, not tell Anakin, and let him drive himself mad looking for a dead man.

But Obi-Wan is very much alive… and that has nothing to do with Anakin and everything to do with how Dooku regards Obi-Wan. Dooku is a sick, twisted man, but Padme is beginning to believe that, in some fashion, he loves his grand-padawan as much as he can love anyone when he's so smothered in the dark side.

"You won't find cover anywhere else. If they're watching the top, they'll notice us when we approach anyway."

"Fair enough. Might as well save ourselves the walk."

Of course, by _walk_, Anakin means a walk across open territory. They still have to descend through the levels of the sinkhole, and after a while, she simply stops counting the stairs. Clearly, they should have simply risked detection and taken Anakin's fighter to the bottom: if Obi-Wan is injured, there's no way he'll be able to walk back up.

When they finally reach the bottom and Padme gets a look at the location where Obi-Wan's signal came from, whatever hope she had—meager at best to begin with—that Obi-Wan wouldn't be injured vanishes. Obi-Wan is good, but he's not good enough to immerge unscathed from a mess like this.

Anakin, clearly, is thinking the same thing.

"Nine Corellian Hells!" he snaps, looking at the twisted mess of what used to be a hangar. Everywhere, there are bits of rubble, and the smell of burnt fuel hangs in the air, just as obvious as the scorch marks that decorate the scene. "What did he do?"

Blew the place up, obviously, but somehow Padme doesn't think Anakin is looking for an actual explanation. Right now, he's just looking for Obi-Wan.

"Of all the—" he spirals off into a mess of Huttese curses, then a few more in Basic, all the while turning on his heal, hands angrily on in his hips, as he scans the surrounding area for any sign of Obi-Wan. "If he could just keep himself in one piece long enough to actually _get _rescued…" he mutters, furiously kicking at a lump of dirt.

"Cuss him out later, Anakin. Right now, we need to find him: whatever explosion he caused will have stopped the clones for a little while, but they'll find a way out soon. We need to find him before they do."

Anakin scowls. It's childish, and Padme knows the bed temper is only because he's worried, but, honestly, it's a bit annoying. Tantrums aren't becoming to anyone, and certainly not to a twenty-three-year-old general. Logically, he ought to be beyond this, though she frankly doubts anyone ever really can be—not when the situation is so personal. This isn't duty. This is family.

"I can feel him. He's here, but he's muffled, like he's…" He pauses and venomously swears again, glaring at the planet as though he's blaming it. "Like he's trying to cut himself off from the Force. It's this planet. This is where he…"

"We need to find him."

Now. Before Obi-Wan does something foolish.

"You've found me."

Just like that. So easy.

Anakin turns before she does, rushing toward the sound of Obi-Wan's voice. It takes her a moment longer to tell where the noise came from—but Anakin, he _knows_. He's worked with Obi-Wan for a very long time, and they're undeniably in sync as partners, but that—it's not _it_. Anakin senses Obi-Wan in a way that only family ever can. It has nothing to do with being a good team and everything to do with the level of care they both harbor for the other.

An overhang of rocks, a small cave, and Anakin kneels down, reaching into it. She can hear him talking, quick and worried, and, yes, that's Obi-Wan answering. His voice is muffled and a little strained, but it's _him._

"Anakin, is—?" she begins to ask as she slips down beside him in the dirt. The dust of the planet settles into her clothes—her mouth too, choking her, but she fights back the protests of her lungs and waits, hand on her husband's shoulder, as he reaches to help his master out of the small cave where he took shelter. At least Obi-Wan still had the presence of mind to do that, though when she gets a look at his face, she wonders how long any of that lingering good sense will last.

Obi-Wan's skin is pale and clammy, and his hair hangs lankly over his forehead. His eyes, though—it's his eyes that are the worst. They're dead, but with the sort of haunted expression that makes Padme think of the refugees she's aided over the course of the war—the ones who lost everything—family, home, _everything_.

Once he's worked his way out from where he took shelter until help arrived, Obi-Wan falls back in the dirt, hand going to Anakin's arm. There's a soft flicker of life in his face at the contact, and it's enough to bring a little hope. Obi-Wan hasn't reached his limits yet. He's close, but for Anakin, he still has enough left in him to play at being all right.

And Anakin believes it, probably because he's so desperate for it to be true.

"I am going to _kill _you for manipulating me into leaving you like that—" Anakin mumbles as he ignores the hand on his arm and just plain throws himself against Obi-Wan, sending his former master straight to his back in the dirt. They lay like that, pressed together on the ground. Anakin doesn't seem to care: he pushes his face down into Obi-Wan's shoulder, one arm bracing himself, the other pressed on Obi-Wan's side and shoulder, gripping his master's shirt tightly enough to tear.

Obi-Wan just gives a weak smile and turns his face against Anakin's hair, patting his back gently as Anakin calls him every unflattering name that he knows, which, given his ability to speak more than one language, makes a considerable list. Obi-Wan doesn't reply, doesn't defend himself—just lets Anakin rant and holds him while he does it.

Padme would like to leave them like that for a while. Truly, she would, but Anakin has clearly lost his head in the chaos and emotion of the moment, and they can't _both _afford to. Someone has to check Obi-Wan for injuries, has to assess the situation, because they'll have to make a decision soon. As they've already established, a demolished hangar won't impede the clones forever.

Obi-Wan doesn't protest when she gently skims her hands over his lower body, checking for injuries. He instead remains silent, meeting her eyes over the top of Anakin's head. Force, despite the mess they're in—the dirt and the blood and the mayhem—he looks happy like that, holding Anakin and just _being__**.**_

It doesn't last: his tenuous hold on happiness slips away the moment she touches his leg. It's not hard to understand why: her hand comes away red and sticky. It's not even one wound. Instead, Obi-Wan is sporting a good many little cuts and the bruises to match.

"Anakin, have Artoo bring your fighter."

Anakin, being Anakin, has to take at least one more moment to fix Obi-Wan with a stern this-conversation-is-not-over sort of glare—the kind Padme knows he pitches fits about when Obi-Wan gives it to him—before he finally sits back and gives her his full attention. "What?"

When she gestures to Obi-Wan's leg and to the blood on her own hand, his face pinches with worry. He takes a moment to simply stare, wiping his sweaty hair out of his face as he finally really _looks _at Obi-Wan.

"What did you _do_?" he snaps at Obi-Wan, furious all over again, finally moving to check Obi-Wan over for injuries himself.

"Shrapnel," Obi-Wan says by way of explanation, letting Anakin poke and prod and generally reassure himself that his master isn't going to die in the immediate future. Then, almost cheerfully, he adds, "I blew up the hangar."

"If I did that," Anakin begins, his stare almost lethal, "you'd tell me it was unnecessary and completely lacking in subtlety—"

"Ironically, I had you in mind when I did it—"

His words are cut off with a harsh grunt when Anakin further rips open a tear in his leggings: the cloth had dried to some of the cuts. Shrapnel, indeed. It's not pretty. Certainly not as bad as it could be, but he should get cleaned up.

"There's metal in here. You try and take cover and have a wall blow in at you?"

"Yes."

"Of course you did, Master," he sighs, finally sitting back and wiping one arm across his forehead in an attempt to displace the beads of sweat that are forming there. Stress and the heat of Utapau will do that. Unfortunately, he only succeeds in smearing a bit of Obi-Wan's blood on his own face.

Obi-Wan frowns at the sight.

"Yeah, Padme" Anakin continues, glancing up at her, "I called for Artoo and the ship already. Figured we'd need it. It's single seat, though: you go first, wait at the ship, and then help Obi-Wan out when I send him. All right? I'll go last."

Obi-Wan doesn't look as though he favors that course of action. "Anakin, I don't think—"

"Shut up," he says, and, really, Padme understands worry, but at this point, she would honestly love to take her husband to task for the way he's treating Obi-Wan. The man is hurt, and though Obi-Wan would probably never admit it, even under torture (_more _torture, that is), obviously experiencing some significant mental trauma. Anakin ought to gain a little self control and at least hide whatever it is that's making him act this way—and, frankly, she would herald a guess that he's giving into his frustration at finding Obi-Wan in this situation. And the easiest person to take that frustration out on? Obi-Wan himself, of course.

"If we listen to your plan again, I'll probably end up on some distant planet in an attempt to keep me safe while you stay behind. No. You'll go. It's not open for discussion."

There's her confirmation, only with detail: Anakin is furious at Obi-Wan for saving him at the expense of himself. He's angry that Obi-Wan valued his life less than Anakin's. Suddenly, she's a bit less irritated with Anakin. Not entirely, but a small amount.

"You are not the Master here, Anakin—"

Smirking, Anakin tips his head back and gives Obi-Wan one of the brattiest looks Padme has ever seen. What must his teenaged temper tantrums have been like? She shudders to think.

"Maybe not. But, _Master_, you're flat on your back, and you're shrinking away from the Force like a youngling who's been slapped by it. We'll do things my way."

And that comment—it truly does make Obi-Wan look like he's been slapped. Maybe because it's the truth. Padme might not be able to sense the Force, but she knows Obi-Wan probably is trying to push it away. He would, here, on this planet where she imagines the aura of the Force feels dark and tainted, at least for him. Mental trauma, indeed: this man's mind must be a mess, no matter how much of a brave face he presents. Anakin—he won't see the cracks, because he's not looking for them. He's used to his master being strong, and the times when Obi-Wan hasn't been—times like after Ventress—are times Anakin doesn't want to relive. He'll deny the problem out of a wish that it doesn't exist, until he absolutely cannot hide from it any longer. Also, he, unlike Padme, never saw Obi-Wan on Utapau. She's seen him break, and she knows that things like that don't just go away. Now, it's only a matter of how long Obi-Wan can keep pretending—even to himself—that he's fine.

Not long, Padme would wager—not with the things he's seen and been forced to do.

Obi-Wan gets one final, good look of pure venom in at Anakin before Artoo lands the fighter. Thankfully, there's still no sign of any clones. Now or never, then, as cliché as that is. Best just to give Anakin one last, pointed look, and head for the fighter. A simple takeoff, and the hope that this will be quick, because she'd hate to make Obi-Wan spend more time on this planet than he already has.

As Padme lifts off in Anakin's fighter, accompanied by a series of beeps and whistles from Artoo, she has to wonder who it will surprise more—Anakin or Obi-Wan—when Obi-Wan finally gives in and lets himself really feel what he's trying to deny.

Because he will.

And it's about time someone let him.

* * *

This wasn't quite how Obi-Wan expected his reunion with Anakin to go. He expected the bursts of temper and relief, the embrace as well, but the sharp commands that came with such finality—that was unexpected. Certainly unwelcome, too. After Dooku, he's had enough of being ordered around to last a lifetime.

Yet, Anakin is right. He knows it. Anakin made the right decision. Obi-Wan only doesn't like it because he values Anakin's life above his own and has no desire to take the chance that the clones may return before a third trip can be made. That's a very poor tactical reason to reject an otherwise sound plan.

Apparently content with his minor victory, Anakin's demeanor eases somewhat as he helps Obi-Wan into the fighter. There's still the edge of annoyance to him, but his relief at finding Obi-Wan relatively in one piece seems to be the dominant emotion for the time being.

"See you in a few minutes," Anakin says once he's gotten Obi-Wan settled, stepping back away from the fighter as it rises up into the air with a familiar lurch. As much as he detests flying, Obi-Wan hasn't flinched at that feeling since he was just learning how to fly: after flying with Anakin, a simple liftoff is hardly worth his notice.

The flight doesn't take much time.

In many ways, he wishes it took longer. His reasons for that are slightly nebulas and certainly underdeveloped, but he cannot deny that they lie somewhere in the area of worry. Padme will press like Anakin won't, because Anakin sees only the physical wounds. Padme—he gets the feeling that she knows his mind is… not wrong, exactly, but unsettled. Those things that he kept pushing down in the cell—he can only keep them down so long. He'd forced them away, concentrating on the task at hand, but what of when the focus shifts solely onto him and those things he's trying to ignore? And it will, because Padme knows he isn't well.

If he doubted that for even a few moments—and he didn't, really—he has it confirmed when, after helping him from the ship and sending it off for Anakin, Padme turns back to face him. For such a small person, she has a remarkably gripping presence, and one look at her, and he simply _knows_. She isn't going to take his excuses or misdirection, and, unlike Anakin, he won't be able to talk her in circles. She's too much a politician—too used to have people try to manipulate her—to let Obi-Wan do it.

"I'm fine, Padme, it's just a—"

"Even Anakin wouldn't believe that, Obi-Wan, and we both know how remarkably obtuse my husband can be at times."

What must Padme have been like as a child? Was she always in possession of that stern glare, the kind that brokers no argument? For the sake of the other children around her, he hopes not: if she was always capable of producing such a fearsome expression, they would have had no chance. She'd have won every fight, hands down, before it ever became physical… and if it had become physical, he doubts she waited until she became queen to learn self-defense.

"I see that Anakin's taste in transportation hasn't changed much," he remarks dryly, sinking down into the bunk they've reached in the back room of the ship. His overtaxed muscles practically sing their thanks, and he only barely holds in a groan. "This is nearly as bad as the _Twilight_."

"Less rust," she replies distractedly, already moving to his leg and widening the hole Anakin previously made in the fabric over the wound. "But barely. Obi-Wan, you've got to stop doing this."

"Could have been worse."

"It can always be worse."

"I suppose."

Sighing deeply enough that even he has to admit that it sounds as though he's just too tired to be bothered to hold the air in, he leans his head back on the bunk, resting one forearm on his forehead, hand dangling off to the side as he feels the heat of his forehead radiate against his arm. That's life, though: heat means he's alive, and he can't help but be thankful. Even the gritty, dirty feel of his hair; the sweat drying on his skin—that's all life.

In some ways, he's not sure he wants it.

Death is not the dark side. It is the Force, and by that power, it would make the memories stop. He wouldn't have to turn against the things that make those memories hurt in the first place—love, loyalty, a sense of right and wrong—but it would still be a way out. It would be a way to insure that he never again does what he did on Utapau. And if he did it once? He _could _do it again.

"It could always be worse," he murmurs again, eyes fixed on the ceiling. "Always."

And does he truly want to remain when things _could _become worse? If this isn't the worst…

Her fingers pause over his cuts, resting lightly on the unmarked flesh. The hesitancy there—he has to wonder if she's caught a sense of what he's thinking. He hopes not. "And it could always be better."

"I suppose that's true as well."

"But you don't really believe it. Not for yourself. For everyone else, maybe, but not for yourself."

Now, she steps back away, cuts and bruises abandoned in the face of what she apparently considers a more pressing need. She'd be right. She so often is, and for just a moment, he is tempted to laugh. _Oh, Anakin, I don't care how talented you are—you've met your equal in your wife. However will you win an argument with her?_

"Don't ask me that."

"I didn't ask you a question. I told you an answer."

He doesn't have the patience for this; wearily, he lets his arm slip down from his forehead. It's—it's—he can't explain what it is. Not any of it. He just—when he was trying to escape, he had something to focus on, something other than the things eating him from the inside out. Now… he has to face those things. If he could, he would move past them, but the memories cling, and he knows some of the things he's done are unforgiveable.

When it comes down to it, he can only truly foresee two options: accept the dark, or accept that he's failed to hold completely to the light.

Force, and he cannot accept what he did with the darkness. He has made mistakes before—he is a humble enough man to admit them and learn from them, but this mistake is different. It taints him, and he cannot accept that he is the type of man who might embrace the dark. Accepting that—it makes him doubt everything about himself, and if _he _can't trust himself, he doesn't want to allow others to put trust in him either.

"Just how afraid are you to fail, Obi-Wan?"

None of what he was thinking was said out loud, but by this point, he doesn't suppose it has to be. He can hide this part of himself from Anakin in the way any parent can hide parts of themselves from their child, simply because the child doesn't know to look for those parts, not when they already have an image, shaped by childhood, of what their parent should be. But he is not Padme's father, brother—not her family—and, as bitter and broken as the image is, she's seeing _him_ in a way no one has bothered to do since Qui-Gon died.

"I'm not—"

"You are. Afraid to fail yourself, but that's not the root of it, is it? You're afraid to fail others, and in failing yourself, you think that's exactly what you'll do."

The way she puts it—it sounds so irrational. This is why he hates politicians. They twist everything, and he just doesn't want to do any more of the damage that he's proven he's capable of. Is that so wrong?

And, honestly—Oh, and how he just wishes for a convenient and believable _lie_—he only wants the memories to stop, because, selfishly, he can't imagine living with the images in his mind. Not forever. The war was bad enough, but even then, he'd never committed an action so heavily imbued with the dark side… and he's finding he can't live with himself now that he's done that. The light—it was the one thing he clung to, all through the war. It kept him sane. Abandoning that—he's not sure where solid ground is anymore.

"You want to trust someone who committed mass murder?" he snaps, and where did _that _come from? She hasn't done anything—he shouldn't be taking this out on her—but the words are still flowing, and he can't understand why, not anymore than he can stop them from tripping off his tongue. "You don't understand, do you? I killed them, no trial, nothing. It was an _execution_, and I did it with the dark side. It's not like war, Padme. That's bad enough. Ask Anakin—you wake up seeing faces of people you couldn't save. People who died because of decisions you made. Your men. Civilians. And worst of all, faces start blurring together after a while. The dead are the dead, remembered as one single entity."

"Obi-Wan—"

_Stop talking. _He has to stop talking. Why _can't _he? "Through all that, do you have any idea what it's like to cling to just one thing? The idea that you're fighting for something _good_? That you deserve to fight for that good? When you carry out a pre-meditated, cold-blooded execution, you lose that. The thing that kept me sane—I threw it away when I did that—"

Skin on skin contact snaps his rant. Padme. Padme's hands. Somehow, they've come up to frame us face. Such little hands, but she's holding tight, and her eyes are snapping with something—anger? Intensity? Something else entirely? All of those things?—that gets his attention quicker than he'd have thought possible.

"You think you threw it away," she whispers, her voice sharp and cutting. "You think you threw it away, and you think you can't get it back." Digging her fingers in tighter, she leans in closer, until there's scarcely half a foot between their faces. "You think you're better than any other Jedi who's ever touched the dark side? If it was _Anakin_, would you tell him he wasn't good enough to have the light anymore? Would you tell him he couldn't be trusted ever again because he'd touched the dark?"

"That's—it's _different_—"

Abruptly, her touch gentles, and she pulls back, hands suddenly as soothing as they were harsh a moment ago. It's… nice when she smoothes his hair back off his head, comforting, like how he imagines—when he lets himself imagine—his mother must have done it. Padme is younger than he is, but right now, that's irrelevant. She's acting as the parent he never had enough of. She's being what no one has been for him since his own master died.

And it—it's _nice_.

"No, it's not. The only difference is that you expect more from yourself than you do from others. You don't know how to accept and process your own failures. You convince everyone that you've let them go, but you never do: you use them to motivate you to do better, but a failing like this—it can't be motivating. It's too large, and you're too afraid you'll do it again."

Pausing, she sighs, closing her eyes briefly with a fanning of dark lashes. "If it was Anakin," she begins again slowly, "you would make him face what he'd done, accept it, then work to avoid doing it again. It's what you've always done with him. Why not yourself? Why can't you accept that you _can_ avoid something like this in the future if you want to? Just because Anakin committed murder in the past, do you refuse to trust him now? Why can't it be the same for you and a brush with the dark side?"

"Because I know what's in me—I know I'm capable of doing it again."

Her mouth tightens in a half-grimace, but beyond that, she contains her emotions. Just a gentle hand on his shoulder now, like she doesn't quite trust him enough to let go of him. Like she thinks he needs the touch. In some ways, he's getting the sense that she's doing for him now what he did for Anakin when the boy was young and lost in a mistake.

But he's not Anakin. And he can't grant himself the same pardon he'd grant his former padawan. He'd be willing to take a gamble on Anakin, willing to face the consequences if he were wrong and Anakin didn't find a way to overcome his mistakes. It's easier forgiving someone else than it is forgiving himself. Why? Better question: why not? Does it have to make sense? It simply is what _is_, and all he knows is that, if he has to choose someone to give a second chance to—someone who might possibly fail—he'd rather suffer the consequences of Anakin's actions than his own. Anakin is worth the risk; he cannot say the same about himself.

"You're not a weak man, Obi-Wan Kenobi. Don't you dare let yourself take the easy way out. You don't want to have to fear what you might do—I understand that. But you stop fighting, and you lose anyway. Giving up is giving in to the dark, and you know that. The only way to not become what you fear most in yourself is to fight it. So _fight_."

"Padme—I—I'm tired of fighting."

She's right, though. Even if he just sunk into the embrace of the light, it would still be letting the dark win a greater victory. _Why _can't anything just be _easy_?

Easy. Nothing is easy anymore. When has it ever been? It certainly isn't easy when she reaches out and pulls him in against her, tucking his head against her shoulder as she slips onto the bunk next to him. He tries to pull away, but she doesn't let him, and while he could certainly overpower her, he doesn't quite have the will to do so. Perhaps he's just too tired… or perhaps there's something about being held that just seems right.

A hand in his hair, wordlessly encouraging him to relax. It's a touch he can only scarcely remember from a time when he was allowed to be comforted after nightmares. He's not being told to meditate his fears away. He's simply being held… and that's… very strange. He can't understand it—not when it's done for _him_—certainly can't process it, and he might have imagined a mother who ever did this for him.

He closes his eyes.

Padme is so tiny, but she's holding _him _as his breathing breaks and turns uneven. No tears—he's past that, is just too tired for it—but he cracks and splinters in other ways. She just keeps holding on to him.

"I know you're tired of fighting," she whispers. "I know. But let others fight with you and _for _you."

Anakin does. He _does_… but that's not what she's saying. She's not saying he doesn't have people who want to—she's accusing him of not allowing them to do so.

It's quite a difference.

"We're your family, Obi-Wan. This is not the Jedi Order. And this is not all your fault."

Not his fault? How was it not? "It _was_ me—_I _was the one who killed those people—"

"Yes, you were. And does someone who serves the dark feel so much guilt about it?"

No, _no_, they don't, but he killed, and he could do it again— "I could do it again—I'm capable—"

She takes a breath so deep that his head noticeably rises and falls with it. "I'm sure you are. But, obviously, you were capable of doing it in the first place. How did you live with yourself before you went to Utapau?"

"I didn't think I'd ever do it."

"You still had the capability… but you believed you could suppress it. If your capabilities haven't changed, why has your level of faith in yourself? If anything, you should recognize your capacity for learning from your mistakes, and you should be _more _confident that you'll never again do what you did on Utapau. Why can't you believe you'll never do it again?"

"Because I know how _easy_ it is now."

"Easy? You felt no guilt about what you were doing? No desperation for the situation to be different?"

She makes it sound so simple. But what he's afraid of—it's not simple. Not simple to face, and certainly not simple to work out.

"You were forced into doing what you did, and you logically know that. Whatever using the dark side was, it wasn't _easy _for you."

He feels sick. Confused, too, like he won't ever figure this out. Yet, he's right on the cusp of it—he knows he is. And, Force, he _does _want to find his way back. So, he lets her hold him, and finally gives in and shifts to get a bit more comfortable. Oh, he could just use some _sleep_…

"No," he admits. "It wasn't."

"And do you think it will be just as hard if you're put in a position to do it again? You don't want the darkness, Obi-Wan, even if it does want you… but at some point, you need to believe that the light wants you more. If you claim the light is stronger, don't you believe it will win?"

Does he?

Does he _really _believe that?

Under a pile of fears and insecurities, behind gruesome memories and the feel of blood under his nails and shrapnel decorating his skin, he does. But… he's never thought of the situation quite in those terms before.

This—it's more than _his_ fight. This is the fight of the Force.

It's not all on him, by him, or about him. When all has concluded, he isn't the one who is responsible for the outcome. He makes his own decisions and mistakes, yes, but he claims to have faith in the light side of the Force to put things right in the end. That doesn't excuse his mistakes, but he isn't self-centered enough to believe that his actions will be able to defeat the light. That would be an impossibly arrogant belief and one that he won't indulge, no matter how many mistakes he's made.

Ultimately, he either trusts that the light is stronger than the dark… or he doesn't.

He has to believe that, no matter what he does, the light will prevail. He might cause damage—and that is reason enough to fight against the whisper of darkness—but he cannot cause the downfall of the light.

The feeling that he cannot concentrate on anything beyond just that fact permeates his mind; he feels his breathing stop, just for a moment, of its own accord, and he nods lightly into Padme's shoulder before he begins to take in air again. He hadn't stopped breathing long enough to make his lungs burn, but he almost wishes they did. For whatever reason, he craves a feeling beside the odd ache in his chest.

"I still remember."

Their faces. The blood. The smell.

"It's not something you can forget."

He has to admit, he appreciates that she doesn't lie to him. "It was different when I killed the Sith. I brushed the dark side, but I knew what I was killing—I knew I did the right thing."

"But the Separatist Council should have stood trial. That's what you're saying?"

"They likely wouldn't have received a death sentence if they had."

She shifts slightly beside him, rearranging her hold on him until one hand slips behind his neck, just resting lightly. The other keeps sifting through his hair while he lies against her, wondering why this isn't more awkward than it is. It's a friend comforting a friend—nothing more. There is no pleasant churning in his stomach—the kind he felt when he was near Satine, or even Siri. She may as well be his sister, and in the moment, that is far more what he needs.

"I think, Padme—I think I've had enough of war."

"I think we all have, Obi-Wan. We've all had enough of blurring lines and making mistakes, but we've all done the best we can in light of a very bad situation. I think that now maybe it's time to concentrate on the good. Rebuild what we've lost."

"Oh?" he asks, half smiling. There's no effort left in him to resist when she takes his wrist in her hand and guides it downward, moving his hand to rest against her stomach.

That's an answer he appreciates. An answer without words. It makes sense in a way nothing else really has, and he listens, splaying his fingers a little wider and feeling the bump under his palm. The baby. Something good.

Something very good.

"Tell me the light isn't stronger than the dark, Obi-Wan, when it creates miracles like _this_."

Yes. It's an answer he'll believe. Something that all the talk and explanations in the galaxy couldn't give him. It just is, and he'll trust that.

"What will you name the baby?" he asks, hand still on Padme's stomach.

Her hand joins his, and she laughs a little, like she enjoys the question. She probably does. After all the chaos of war, it must be nice to feel like her pregnancy is at least a bit normal. "I'm not sure. Anakin thinks it's going to be a girl, but I'm convinced it's a boy. We haven't talked about names, though, but… what would you like?"

It never occurs to him not to answer. This is Anakin's baby and by all rights his to name, but the word still trips off Obi-Wan's tongue with a simplicity that very few things seem to hold anymore. It just seems _right_.

"Luke."

Padme just nods and lets her lips curve into a smile, hand rubbing gently over her stomach. She's careful about it, as though she's touching the skin of the baby itself and not her own body. "Light?"

"What else?" he replies, shrugging. A name meaning "light"—he hadn't truly thought about it, but now that he's said it, he knows it fits.

"Yes. What else indeed."

Under his hand, the baby kicks.


	40. Chapter 39

**Disclaimer: **I own nothing.

**Feedback**: If you'd be so kind as to leave some, I'll do my best to reply.

**Notes:** ROTS AU.

Rohan: I wonder if anyone has done a video to any of those. If not, maybe you should give it a shot.

pronker: The strange thing is, sometimes I actually like the Padme/Obi-Wan pairing. But I can see it either way, and in this story, it's completely friendship. Thanks for noticing that bit, though—it was something I really wanted to make clear.

yellow 14: Heh, I like that description. And that _is_ pretty much what she's doing, isn't it?

jmeec316: Aww, thanks! And I have to admit, I do run kind of dark in my subject materiel. Not sure why that is, actually. I do really enjoy the theme of light over dark, though—I know it's a common one, but I think it's something that can be done in so many different ways, and I enjoy playing around with that.

Corni378: Oooh, Latin 1? I'm taking that in college right now (stupid core language requirement), and therefore you have my deepest sympathies. Seriously, there's a reason it's a dead language… probably because all the Romans got tired of having a different ending for the same word every time that word was used as a different part of speech. Anyway, I'll end that rant… Yes, Leia is, as of now, unknown.

Booknerd101: Yup, that's true! Google a couple of baby name sites. You'll get some other stuff too, but overall the meaning is usually agreed to be some variation of "light." Yes, there will still be twins. There's a reason, actually, that Obi-Wan is sensing Luke more strongly, though that won't be explained until the epilogue.

SkywalkerForceChick: No worries! There's a couple more chapters, and I've got other stuff in the works.

mtfrosty: I'm with you on that—I'd like to give him a hug. His old self is going to be difficult to obtain. At the very least, it will be a process.

charliebrown1234: I thought it might be, and then I just kind of decided it really wasn't, since I somehow manage to write Obi-Wan and Anakin sharing a bunk/bed/sleeping space in just about every story I write, and that never strikes me as particularly uncomfortable. Of course, it could be different with Padme since her relationship with Obi-Wan is obviously different from the one Anakin has with him, but given the state of his mind, I thought it would seem pretty innocent—just an attempt at comfort. About Obi-Wan's realization: it doesn't mean he's going to stop doing being so hard on himself, but, hey, realizing that he does it is a first step, at least. Anakin will get his shot at comfort too, but it'll be different—like you said, he's more like a son, and so Obi-Wan won't take what he says in the same way he'll take what Padme says.

* * *

Sorry for the relative shortness of this update, but I find that I really like where it ended.

* * *

Anakin knew Cody would find him eventually. In fact, he's been waiting for it: Artoo brought his fighter back over ten minutes ago, and since then, he's leaned casually against it, waiting in the heat of the Utapau day like he has nothing better to do. He certainly does—there are things he _should _be doing—but this matter irritates his mind like the buzzing of a particularly persistent insect. He won't be satisfied until this is finished.

When he comes, Cody isn't alone. Anakin didn't expect him to be. He also doesn't much expect that it will matter. If he wants a quick getaway, he's got one handy: they can't shoot down his fighter with blasters alone, and they don't have anything else handy.

Still, the sight of twenty or so clones is not quite a welcome one. They pour out of what's left of the hangar, having succeeded in finally breaking through the debris, and they leave a cloud of dust rising in their wake as they hurry toward him. They shouldn't bother hurrying. Utapau is too hot for that, and why should they strain themselves when Anakin doesn't plan to run? He doesn't intend to declare that, of course. With any luck, a few of them will drop from heat stroke before they reach his position.

"Rex with you?" he asks casually once the clones reach him. Immediately, they work to surround him as best they can, though it results in little more than a semi-circle, given that he's protected his back, pressing himself to a cliff wall.

More importantly, he keeps lightsaber in hand as he watches the clone in charge—Cody, most likely—move toward him. His arm still hangs at his side, but that means nothing: every one of these clones knows how quickly he can ignite his weapon if the need presents itself.

Cody pulls off his helmet. "No, Sir. Rex took a shot while putting down a riot on Coruscant."

Yeah, right. "Rex is too good to go out like that."

Cody nods. "That's true, Sir."

"Are you trying to tell me that he _let _himself get killed?"

"We all dealt with the balance of duty and our own convictions differently."

Duty. As always. The clones will never, _ever _forsake their duty, but apparently they can find a way out while still doing it. Rex made sure he died doing his duty… but he still made sure he _died_. He didn't want to serve Dooku, and so he found a way to avoid doing so. Death is pretty effective like that. Of course, defecting would be too, but apparently that word isn't even listed in the clones' moral lexicons.

Other options or not, Rex is still dead. Simple as that.

Honestly, Anakin can't decide whether to feel saddened or sick. If Rex could have just done what he thought was right—if he'd deserted—he wouldn't have had to die. Duty to a cause you don't believe in isn't worth this. It isn't worth _anything_—not if you don't believe in what you're fighting for.

"And you?" he asks Cody as he finally leans forward and pushes away from his fighter. Behind him, Artoo squeaks his protest, but Anakin pretends not to hear.

"I can't let you leave the planet, Sir, and I expect that you'll end my life when I try to stop you."

"Might be crueler of me to leave you alive."

Cody nods, but somewhere under the mask of calm, Anakin can see that he's not without conflict. Cody cares, has probably _always _cared, and for whatever reason, that makes Anakin dislike him more. To betray someone when you _care _for him—that, in his mind, is inexcusable.

And he's very aware that if things had gone just a little differently, he could have done that to Obi-Wan.

He and Cody—they might not have been so different. Anakin might have become _worse_, and for that, he cannot hate Cody. He can't excuse him, but he can give him the only mercy he can conceive of bestowing.

"Why didn't you have Obi-Wan kill you?" he asks slowly as he ignites his lightsaber.

Cody doesn't flinch. He merely eyes the blade, watching it coldly, but with a relief that, no matter how well hidden, is still present. He knows… and he _wants_.

"Would you have wanted Rex to ask that of you?"

No. Of course not. Rex was… he was the clone Anakin trusted most. His second-in-command. His friend. Killing Cody is at least less personal. Killing Rex would be killing a friend, and by the Force, Anakin wishes that feeling had been enough for the clones to spare their Jedi commanders… because they _were_ friends. Cody was Obi-Wan's friend. Rex was Anakin's. They were brothers in arms, but for whatever reason, it wasn't enough. Blame it on something written into the clones' psyche before they ever left the test tube. Blame it on anything. All Anakin knows is that it happened, and he can't forgive that.

"You wanted to spare him that?" he asks. "But not me?"

Cody simply shrugs. Behind him, the other clones hold their position, helmets still securely on. Anakin has to wonder what they're thinking—_if _they're even thinking. Or are they just waiting? They have to know this is their end. They've heard Cody _ask _for it. "It's not the same with you, Sir."

That's true. It's not the same.

"I appreciate that you didn't make him do it. Because he would have. And it would have eaten at him."

"I know," Cody agrees simply, and what's so strange about that is that he truly _does _seem to know. Even stranger, he seems to _care._ "I thought you might feel that way, Sir."

"And be thankful enough to you for leaving him out of it that I'd do it myself?"

Again, another shrug. Not confirmation, exactly, but still essentially exactly that.

"Congratulations. You were right."

Finally now, Cody raises his blaster, signaling for the others to do the same. They do, all together, like a great sea of white, guns rolling upward in a unified wave.

That's all the invitation Anakin needs. Seconds later, Cody is dead on the ground, the only shot he got off having gone wide. Very wide. _Intentionally _wide.

But that is all Anakin does. As soon as Cody falls, he's clambering into his fighter, Artoo's frantic beeps and whistles ringing in his ears. As quickly as he can, he brings the fighter to life, letting its mechanical currents meld into him, shaking his nerves down to the bone. Machinery is just that way. He can always feel it.

He hardly spares a thought for the clones he leaves behind. Most are too shocked to even bother a shot at him. Those that aren't—they miss. He can hardly blame them: they expected to be dead.

Foolish, really, he thinks with a less than pleasant smirk as he tears past the levels of the sinkhole. He gave Cody what he asked for because he consciously aided Obi-Wan, no matter how indirectly, and for that, Anakin was willing to have Cody's blood on his hands. The others—he owed nothing to them. For all he cares, they can wallow in their rut of duty to a cause they abhor. He will not save them from that.

They certainly didn't try to save _him_.

* * *

Anakin finds Padme sitting on the side of Obi-Wan's bunk in a back room of the ship. She doesn't see him when he first enters, though, really, that's not such a surprise, given that all her attention is focused on Obi-Wan.

There's hardly a need: Obi-Wan is soundly asleep, head buried into his pillow, muscles relaxed. Only, the more Anakin looks, the more he realizes that Obi-Wan isn't quite relaxed—not really. There's still a tiny pull in the lines of his face, sort of a worry, a line of thought, even in his sleep.

Padme must see it. She's frowning slightly as she watches him, and Anakin has got to wonder if she ever watched _him _like that. It's not that he's jealous of the attention she's paying his master—Force knows Obi-Wan needs it, and he certainly has no suspicion that their affection toward each other is anything beyond friendship—but there's a quality in her face that makes him wonder what she's feeling. Whatever it is—it's beyond concern, and sort of like how she looks when something's really _wrong _with the world. It's the look she got whenever the incessant quality of the war was mentioned, only now it's more personal, like that war has come home to rest in Obi-Wan and she can't quite figure out how to end it there either.

She looks like she'd like to. Very badly, in fact.

"I'm surprised he went to sleep so fast," Anakin says by way of greeting as he steps into the cabin. "He must have been exhausted."

She doesn't seem surprised to see him enter—she just nods and raises one hand to rest lightly on Obi-Wan's shoulder as Anakin comes to sit on the bed next to his master. "I want Dooku eviscerated for this, Anakin."

Oh, she has no idea. She has no true concept of the way Dooku played with Obi-Wan's mind, day in and day out. The man deserves a slow, painful death because of that, but Anakin's fairly certain a verdict like that might hurt Obi-Wan more. Torture—Obi-Wan wouldn't condone it, and as much as Anakin might hate the idea, Obi-Wan would probably find some way to feel guilty if Dooku died like that.

Still, a nice swift execution would be far less objectionable. Might even help bring some closure.

So much, Anakin would like to be the one to strike the final blow… and for that reason alone, he will ensure that the pleasure goes to someone else.

"That's too good for him, Padme," he says softly, settling more deeply into the bunk beside her. "You saw the results—you saw Utapau—but I saw how Dooku played with him constantly. The thing was, not all of it was an attempt of Dooku's to get power: he had some sort of warped affection for Obi-Wan. He really did. It was sick and twisted, but it was real—as real as any affection that comes from Dooku can be—and it made things worse, because it wasn't something Obi-Wan could reason his way through. There was really no reason to it at all. The reasons _why it existed_ were there, but the _affection itself_—there's no explanation for that. You can see the origins, but you can't explain exactly what it _is_—not really—and it made Dooku do things that Obi-Wan couldn't fathom."

"Yes," she replies dryly, "he cared so much that he left Obi-Wan to rot in a cell just to spite you."

It's good to have Obi-Wan's warm weight solid against his hip. It makes having his master back feel real. Real is—is—it's _good_, and Anakin is quite honestly considering never letting Obi-Wan out of his sight ever again.

"He's a sick bastard. No one's denying that. That's what the dark side will do. But it doesn't mean he didn't care for Obi-Wan. It just means that he couldn't care _enough_."

"Anakin, whatever Dooku did—Obi-Wan is—he's—he can't get over what Dooku made him do."

"Utapau?" he asks, barely containing the shudder he can feel starting to creep up his back. They need to get off this planet as soon as possible.

"Mostly," she agrees, pushing a strand of dark hair out of her face. "It's the main problem, but it's not making all of the smaller problems any easier for him to face. He's better now than when he first got on board, but I don't think this will be a quick fix, Anakin, and whether you want to admit it or not, I don't think it will be for _you _either."

For _him_?

She doesn't miss his lack of understanding. "Anakin," she says wearily, delicate fingers pressing against her forehead as she rubs the skin there in a clear sign of frustration, "if you killed Dooku right now, would you enjoy it?"

"Yes."

"And does it eat at you to know that he did this to Obi-Wan?"

"Yes."

"Do you resent him for destroying the Jedi, the Republic—the life you knew?"

"Of course."

"Do you think those feeling will ever go away?"

"No."

She stops then, fingers dropping from her head to rest lightly on her knee. He follows the motion with his eyes, licking his lips slightly as he tries to think what more he should say, or, rather, exactly what _she's _trying to say and how he can respond to it… because he knows that if he tries, he'll get what she's trying to tell him. It's more that he just doesn't want to face it.

That quite possibly could be _exactly _what she means.

"Don't you think you'll always have to work against those feelings of anger?"

"Probably."

"Then you know this isn't easily fixed for any of us."

It makes sense. He sees that with machines—a quick fix usually means one of two things: either what's being fixed wasn't so broken to begin with, or the repair was a shoddy job. Anything that's really broken is going to require both time and work to fix properly.

"I'm willing to work at it."

Nodding—and smiling lightly—Padme drops her hand from Obi-Wan's shoulder and reaches out to Anakin. Her hand settles on the side of his face, thumb brushing a piece of hair away before skimming lightly back and forth over the skin of his cheek.

"I know, Ani. We're all willing to work at it. And we'll all have to."

Obi-Wan shifts in his sleep, muttering something indiscernible, like he misses the touch. It's almost reflex for Anakin to reach out and lay a hand on his master's arm, trying to comfort like Padme did a few moments before. If he were awake, Obi-Wan would fuss terribly about all the attention being paid to him, but as far as Anakin can tell, he not only deserves it, but he _needs _it. They all ought to be thankful Obi-Wan is asleep. This way, it's far easier to give him what he needs.

"Okay," he says simply. "We can fix this."

"We can," she agrees, hand coming to rest on top of his own where it's still on Obi-Wan's arm. "We'll be a family."

And just because he can, he gives her a silly, lopsided grin and laughs a little, which feels nice. He hasn't laughed in far too long. "I thought we already were."

She smiles back.

And they laugh a little together.


	41. Chapter 40

**Disclaimer: **I own nothing.

**Feedback**: If you'd be so kind as to leave some, I'll do my best to reply.

**Notes:** ROTS AU.

Corni378: I think the fact that you can picture Padme's expression is probably more to Natalie Portman's credit than to mine: I'm of the opinion that she managed to very successfully bring Padme to life, which is no small feat, considering some of the really terrible dialogue she had to work with. And Latin… ugh, I'm so glad it's Christmas break.

The Pearl Maiden: They're perfect in their own dysfunctional, abnormal way, I suppose. :)

Pronker: I enjoy the psychology of the clones, especially in light of TCW series that explores their relationship to the Jedi a bit more. And, yes, here comes the comfort! :)

Booknerd101: It's headed toward a conclusion very soon, I can tell you that.

yellow 14: I think to ignore the psychological effects would be completely unrealistic. Plus, getting into the characters' heads is my favorite part. Not sure about the cooling systems. Interesting thought…

charliebrown1234: Okay, well, you just about entirely summed up what I was trying to do in this chapter. Nice!

Random: Eh, well, Cody did help annihilate the Jedi Order, shoot Obi-Wan and Anakin down, hold Obi-Wan prisoner, and pretty well betray every bit of trust Anakin had ever put in him.

* * *

Obi-Wan doesn't wake until they've long since entered hyperspace. By that time, Padme has been able to accomplish a satisfactory amount of work… and there is a nearly overwhelming amount to be done.

Bail has commed her, letting her know that, while she and Anakin have been gone, things have finally begun to move. The Senate has reconvened, consisting of representatives from the planets that were still part of the Republic at the time when Dooku toppled it. New impromptu elections will be held for the Senate seats in hopes of removing those individuals who advocated Dooku's cause once he seized power. A new Supreme Chancellor will be elected. The courts intend to charge Dooku. So much news in such a short span of time.

"Credit for your thoughts?"

Anakin flashes her a smile from across the room, crossing his right ankle over his other as he settles more deeply into the chair he's occupying, his feet still comfortably put up on Obi-Wan's bed. He's been reading his datapad as well, though she suspects he's been using it more to contact the remaining Jedi now that communication is safe again.

And that is when she notices that Obi-Wan is awake.

"At the moment?" she says, setting her work aside, "I'm wondering how long Obi-Wan has been awake."

Endearing isn't a word she usually applies to those who are startled, but the way Anakin sort of jumps, shoulder dropping sideways as he almost flips his chair in his haste to get a look at his master—it _is_ endearing.

"Master! You—how long have you been awake?"

Obi-Wan purposefully yawns and then raises an eyebrow. "I do believe that the good Senator just asked that very question. Don't you listen?"

Clearly, he's feeling better. "Padme, Obi-Wan," she corrects. "I think we're past formal titles."

Anakin waves his hand, dismissing the correction. "He's not doing it for formality's sake. It's like when he calls me 'my former padawan'. Doesn't mean he doesn't feel like he can use my name. 'Just means he feels like sounding condescending and superior."

Obi-Wan's raised eyebrow fades as he rolls his eyes. "Thank you, _Anakin_, for that insight."

When Anakin just smirks, looking awfully pleased with himself, Padme can't say she's surprised. She loves her husband, but there are times when she could swear that his level of maturity never progressed past that of a nine-year-old.

"Sure, Master."

Oddly enough, _Obi-Wan _looks pretty pleased with himself too. Why would he possibly be?—_oh. _He is _good_. Letting Anakin soak in his satisfaction as a means of distraction? Obi-Wan knows how to misdirect her husband far too well… and Anakin is too easily manipulated.

"I'm impressed, Obi-Wan," she says simply, nodding in acknowledgement. It's likely counterproductive to give in to the slight smile of amusement that's tugging at her lips, but she can't quite help it. "You played that well."

It's gratifying to see him return it. "Not well enough, it seems."

"What?" Poor Anakin: so intelligent and insightful at times, and so utterly oblivious at others. He doesn't have the faintest idea that Obi-Wan has played him.

"I'm very used to this sort of tactic. You'll find—much to your dismay, I'm sure—that it's frequently used in politics." Pausing, she chews the corner of her nail lightly, pretending that she's deep in thought. "You know, you could have made a good politician."

He seems almost insulted, and from the way his face twists, she finds that he looks as though he is smelling something particularly odoriferous. "I think not."

"No? Well, then I'll settle for pointing out that you would also have made a fabulous criminal."

"The two are often not far apart," he mutters sourly.

Interesting how Anakin takes offense at that. He doesn't know what they're talking about, but Padme has to admit, she's a bit flattered by how he so quickly jumps to her defense. "Politicians are _not _all criminals," he informs Obi-Wan a little sharply. He's not angry, but there's a clear warning in his voice.

"Oh, calm down, Anakin," Obi-Wan snaps.

Snaps. Overacts, and does so badly.

It's hardly anything, but Padme can see in it—in his reaction—that, though he is feeling better than when he left Utapau, he is still unsettled.

Anakin sees it too; at the rebuke, he quickly backs down. Smart man. Defending her honor or not, Padme would thrash him if he was foolish enough to pick a fight with Obi-Wan after what that man has just gone through.

It doesn't seem she'll have to worry about that—Anakin only looks confused, apparently not quite understanding what he did wrong. "I didn't mean—"

This is, Padme must admit, what she was afraid of. She told Anakin—explained to him that Obi-Wan is struggling, but to Anakin, that is a nebulas concept. He heard her, but he didn't comprehend that what she'd told him might suggest that some of Obi-Wan's actions could possibly be a bit out of character. He's expecting everything to be normal, even if he logically knows that Obi-Wan has been through something no one should have to face.

Instead of letting them continue, she presses the conversation Obi-Wan directed them away from. "How long have you been awake, Obi-Wan?"

His head jerks back up toward her, and he regards her silently for a few moments before taking a deep breath and answering, "Not long. And not for anything interesting. Though, I find that I'd very much like to know what's so important that you've managed to get Anakin reading."

"I read, Master!"

"When I make you."

Not so entirely away from normal then, she notes. Obi-Wan is slightly off, but still _him _enough that he regards Anakin how he always has. She's not surprised about that part. She's not sure if there's anything that could make Obi-Wan stop caring for Anakin.

"Will I have to _make _you read the news when the press finds out that you're married?"

Yes, well, that's a fairly effective conversation killer. Obi-Wan probably knew that, but Anakin just sits there with his mouth open and gaping, and the first few times he tries to form words, he just ends up looking like he's gasping for air.

"Didn't think that far, I see," Obi-Wan observes, leaning back into his pillow and sighing heavily. "Padme?"

"I assumed that, once we've cleaned up this mess, we'd give an interview. As of yet, only members of the rebellion know, but it won't take long for word to trickle out. I'm sure you know what happens when men on leave have a little too much to drink."

Miracle of all miracles, that pulls a smile onto his face. Just a small one, and it's too much like a smirk to be anything good—she just _knows _even before he speaks that whatever he says is going to be… interesting. "Probably the same thing _women_ do when they're on leave and have had a little too much to drink," he replies. "Actually, I imagine the men and women do it together."

Of course, Anakin just can't resist _that_. "Same thing Jedi do on year-long missions with duchesses of Mandalore? You know, Master, you like to reprimand _me _about attachments, but I'm not really seeing why we're so different."

Bad idea, Anakin. _Bad_ idea. He's lived with Obi-Wan for how long? He should _know _not to give him an opening like that.

And, oh, yes, Obi-Wan isn't going to let that slide. His brows draw together, and his eyes fix on Anakin's face, studying, probably planning the best method of delivery for whatever he's about to say—and it _will _be good. She can tell from the look in his eyes.

"Anakin?"

"Yes?" he asks, still looking inordinately pleased at presumably having found a way to make his master cease one of his most oft-repeated lectures. _Presumably_. There's no way in the galaxy that he's going to get away with that, and he ought to know it.

"Did I marry Satine?"

Anakin's satisfaction fades as he apparently realizes that his argument isn't quite as irrefutable as he'd hoped. "I guess not, but you definitely slept with her, and don't you dare deny it!" he adds vehemently.

Obi-Wan's expression doesn't change. "Anakin?"

"What?" he snaps, crossing his arms in a very child-like gesture.

"Does Satine have any children?"

Anakin finally just gives in and scowls. Clearly, this isn't going how he wanted, and Padme is really quite tempted to laugh at him. She loves her husband very much, but there is something incredibly amusing about knowing that, while he can best just about anyone in the galaxy in saber combat, his master can still verbally dress him down like a youngling.

"Well, Anakin, does she?"

A sullen, "No."

"Yes, well, and there is the difference between you and me: one of us apparently understands that pregnancy is not conducive to discretion. Really, Anakin, in the middle of a war? While you were trying to keep your marriage secret? When you were deployed to the Outer Rim? Your timing was not ideal."

Padme _does_ have to agree with him on that.

Predictably, Anakin doesn't seem to be able to refute that on any count, and he's clearly not pleased about it. It's moments like these when Padme is reminded just a bit too much of that nine-year-old child her husband used to be. Men his age should not pout.

Luckily for him, Obi-Wan is not one to gloat… much. He's made his point, gained his satisfaction, and now proceeds to move on: "A press conference, Padme?" he asks. "You'd probably better make it sooner rather than later. I don't imagine you can keep everyone quiet for long."

It's true. Still, she had hoped not to have to deal with this quite so soon. "Point taken," she replies, nodding her head in his general direction. "However, at the moment, our main priority has to be Dooku's trial. The courts will have to fast-track his case."

"They'd better," Anakin huffs, leaning further back into his chair. It seems his pride isn't so wounded as to suppress his inclination to offer his thoughts. "It's not like they have anything more pressing to hear."

"Maybe not, but, Anakin, that's going to create a problem."

He doesn't understand. She can see that in the way he stares at her blankly, waiting for her to continue. How can she blame him for not understanding? She doesn't want to either, and, frankly, she's regretting bringing this up. Should she have waited until Obi-Wan wasn't present? Perhaps, but it seems so unfair to deny him a say in this when _he _is the one it will affect.

"When he's put on trial," she continues, "he'll get his say. His _full, unabridged, meticulously-covered-by-the-media-because-they-have-nothing-more-explosive-to-concentrate-on say. _He's the accused, and that means he gets to state his case… and he can… implicate people."

Obi-Wan catches the meaning before Anakin does. His reaction—it's not large, but Padme's heart just about breaks when she sees his eyes flicker closed for a moment, probably fighting back the images of the event he knows Dooku will implicate him in. Obi-Wan—he doesn't deserve this. Not any of this.

Anakin frowns. "Like anyone would take anything he says seriously."

Wearily, Obi-Wan rubs his forehead with his hand. "They would if it could be proven, Anakin."

From that, Anakin makes the connection. It's not a pleasant sight. Padme didn't really expect that it would be.

"You can't be serious!" he snaps, pitching forward in his chair. His hands come to rest on the edge of Obi-Wan's bed, though they don't stay there, instead scooting closer to Obi-Wan the moment the other man looks like he might move away. "Obi-Wan, he can't—"

"You know he can, Anakin," he says tiredly. "You _know_ he can."

"Then we won't put him on trial! We'll—can't we try him as a former Jedi? Can't we—"

"Anakin, we _can't_. He has to be tried, and he'd left the Jedi Order long before he started the Separatist cause. He must be tried by the _courts_. If he's not, you're taking legitimacy away from them, and if we're trying to re-establish the Republic, discrediting one of its major institutions is the last thing we want to do."

His hand grabs Obi-Wan's wrist. Padme would like to do the same, but she feels stuck. Mentally, emotionally, physically—she just can't seem to get past the horror of what she's seeing unfold. Intellectually, she'd known all this, but she hadn't really let herself think about it until now.

"Obi-Wan, he's going to tell the entire Republic that you—you—"

"I'm well aware of what he's going to do, Anakin, thank you."

He's cracking. The strain is evident on his face. This—Utapau is something he can't handle properly for the time being. Now that it's processed into his mind, he is, Padme knows, reliving it anytime it's mentioned. It was better when he couldn't recall it. So. Much. Better.

"No, Obi-Wan—"

"Anakin, stop it!" he bites out, and from the way Anakin jolts back, she's guessing he's finally noticing just how white and pinched Obi-Wan's face looks. If Padme had to guess, she'd bet Obi-Wan feels that he's going to be sick.

Who can blame him? The possibility of having the entire galaxy hear about the thing that rattles him most can't be pleasant. Worse, it's more than that. He very well _could _be tried for a war crime.

And, exceptional or not, she doesn't believe he can mentally handle that.

Silence settles in the room. Anakin—he just looks lost, staring over at Obi-Wan, who's closed his eyes and looks very much like he's trying to pull back some semblance of control. Eventually, he does open his eyes, but he doesn't look much better. Someone ought to get a cloth to wipe his face with—there's too much sweat beginning to bead there.

"Anakin," she begins slowly, "would you please go get Obi-Wan something to drink?"

Obi-Wan immediately protests. "I don't need anything."

Why does he always have to be so resistant to help? He needs it. On some level, he probably even wants it. But he's so loathe to _accept _it.

"Fine. Anakin, please go get _me _a drink, then. And would you also bring _me_—not Obi-Wan—a wet cloth?"

While it's painfully obvious that he doesn't want to leave, Anakin does get to his feet and, with one last very worried glance at Obi-Wan, hurries out of the room. He'll be back in what will probably rival record time. She'll have to be quick with what she needs to say.

"Padme, this isn't necessary," Obi-Wan mutters once Anakin has left.

"We talked about this, Obi-Wan—about letting people help you. If you don't want it to be me and Anakin, we can find someone else, but this isn't something you can ignore."

Muttering something under his breath, he pushes his head further back into his pillow and stares blankly up at the ceiling. "I should be better than this, but I just—I can't stop seeing what I did. And, Padme, you and Anakin shouldn't have to handle this. I should be _stronger _than this."

Really? Stronger? How could he possibly_ be _anystronger? Force, she hates everything that ever made him think he was weak. If this was what the Jedi Order condemned—any sort of pain in a man who has given up _everything_—maybe she's glad the Order is dead. Just _glad_.

"You kept him alive, Obi-Wan," she spits out, harsher than she meant to. "You killed to save him, and you put yourself in a position to _die_. I don't know anyone stronger than you. And if you weren't affected by everything that's happened, I wouldn't think you were strong—I'd just think you were unfeeling. I'd think you were _cold_. And you _really_ want to be cold? Fine. Then keep on sitting there, pretending you can handle all this, and let Anakin watch you fall apart."

He turns his head away, dropping his cheek to the pillow as he stares at the wall of the bunk. "That is not my intention."

"Your mind's a mess right now, Obi-Wan. We all know it. Anakin isn't going to think less of you for it. Did he think less of you after what happened with Ventress?"

She never learned exactly what happened in the time after Ventress. She knows Anakin spent a lot less time in her apartment for a few weeks, and when he had come, he'd always looked so tired. Most of the time, she'd just held him and rocked him, and he'd fall asleep against her, and she'd known even without him saying it that seeing his master like that was tearing him apart.

But he'd kept going back.

He probably would have killed anyone who tried to stop him.

"He was _my _padawan—not the other way around."

"He's not anymore. He will always be _your_ child, but he is not _a_ child. He's grown up. Let me put it this way: when he was very young, did you trust him to save your life?"

"Not to the degree I do now, obviously," he murmurs, wiping away the sweat on his forehead.

"But now, would you trust anyone more?"

He doesn't even take time to think on that. "No."

"If you trusted him more in that respect as he got older, why isn't this the same? If you trust him to see you in a situation where you need to physically be saved, why shouldn't you trust him with something like this too?"

"I do trust him."

Funny thing is, he probably does. He just doesn't know how to admit he needs that help. He can deal with many things, but having his own situation spiral out of control is not one of those things.

Padme sighs. They still haven't even addressed what they'd originally started at. Regrettably, they need to. "We can't put you on the stand, Obi-Wan. If Dooku tells the courts what happened on Utapau, I don't think you can handle testifying. Do _you _think you're ready to relive Utapau with the entire galaxy watching?"

She takes it as progress that he doesn't assure her that he is. He knows he's not. She doesn't doubt that. She just doubts that he won't try to make himself do it anyway.

The door sliding back open signals Anakin's return. He doesn't bother with the pretense of giving his supplies to Padme. Instead, he hands the drink to Obi-Wan, who grudgingly accepts it, angling his head up and taking a sip before setting it aside on the floor by the bed.

Seeing Obi-Wan discard the water so quickly clearly doesn't please Anakin: he eyes it accusingly, as if it's the liquids fault, and sits down on the bunk next to Obi-Wan. "We can't try Dooku," he says bluntly. "We just can't."

Obi-Wan tosses his own arm over his eyes. "And we can't _not _try him either. You know that."

"Do you _want _to get charged as a war criminal?" Anakin demands. Padme knows he means well, but lashing out at Obi-Wan isn't going to do much good.

Except, that may not be quite what Anakin has in mind.

As she watches, Anakin slips down on the bunk beside Obi-Wan, tosses the wet cloth onto his face, and then rolls over against him until he's settled quite comfortably on his back, his head resting on Obi-Wan's shoulder in the crook between Obi-Wan's arm and body.

"You're too big to be doing this," Obi-Wan complains, pulling the cloth off his face and trying to roll away. Unfortunately for him, he's really got nowhere to go. The wall is on one side and Anakin is on the other. Good. More and more, Padme is convinced that this is what he needs—he's not going to accept affection, and thus it's far more efficient to all but slap him in the face with it.

"Mmhm," Anakin agrees, but doesn't move. Rather, he just crosses his ankles and gets a little more comfortable.

Given that it's Anakin—because just about anyone else would have been tossed across the room by now—Obi-Wan eventually gives in and stops moving. Thankfully, he even bothers to make use of the cool cloth and wipe his face, and it's a substantial relief to see that, once he does, some of the color beings to seep back into his cheeks.

Unfortunately, their problem still isn't solved. "I'm not letting him bring you down with him," Anakin says simply.

"He has to go to trial," Obi-Wan replies.

And he does. That is, Padme has to concede, an unavoidable conclusion. After what Dooku has done to the galaxy, there's no way he can't face a trial. She doesn't have the kind of power to stop that from happening. What they're discussing—it's not something they can stop at all. This discussion is really only a prelude to the fact that they're going to have to find a way to insure that, when Dooku does inevitably reveal what has happened, Obi-Wan isn't going to be destroyed along with him.

"Maybe he does. But he doesn't have to blame you for anything."

"He wouldn't have to. He could take all the blame, and the simple events would still be enough. And, Anakin, if that's what it takes to see that he gets what he deserves—I'm willing."

Anakin just sighs and closes his eyes. From what Padme can tell, he's figured out that a nap would do Obi-Wan good, and because he doesn't trust him to actually take one, Anakin has decided to fall asleep on him and thus insure that Obi-Wan doesn't have anything else to do but follow his example.

Seeing him do that, Padme finds that she is very, very glad that she married Anakin Skywalker. _This _is the man that she loves.

"Anakin," Obi-Wan protests. "We need to talk about this."

As has become common since his teenage years, Padme knows, Anakin ignores him. "Padme, Obi-Wan and I are going to take a nap. Would you mind dimming the lights on your way out?"

She can't help it—she grins. "Not at all." Of course, Anakin hasn't dropped the conversation. She knows him well enough to know that. If Obi-Wan were himself, he'd know it too, and he'd probably realize just as easily as she does that Anakin dismissing this so easily really only means one thing: he thinks he's found a way to solve it himself, and therefore there's no more reason to discuss it.

"Padme, that's not necessary—" Obi-Wan tries to say.

Necessary? Maybe not, but it's certainly advisable. More importantly, maybe Anakin really has found a way to fix this. It could be just because she's so desperate for that to be the case, but she's willing to give him the benefit of the doubt and let the topic slide for now.

She dims the lights and leaves.

When she checks on them twenty minutes later, they've both fallen asleep.


	42. Chapter 41

**Disclaimer: **I own nothing.

**Feedback**: If you'd be so kind as to leave some, I'll do my best to reply.

**Notes:** ROTS AU.

Rohan: Oh, don't be nervous! Everything will turn out okay!

Eringo94: Thanks so much! I'm glad you stumbled across it, and just in time for the ending too! :)

Random Under the Sun: Oh, goodness, yes: winter break is a Godsend. And it's funny that you should mention a story about what happened after Ventress: I've always wanted to write one. Haven't yet, but it's certainly something I eventually plan to do.

VRB: I appreciate the praise! Though, in defense of fanfiction, I have seen some that I think is just as well written as professional stuff, sometimes better. I am aware that I don't catch every error, but, honestly, I just don't have the time to spend editing this like I would a college paper or something equally important. I read through it once, fix the errors I catch, and then hope that there's nothing too blatant that I miss. You're right about this being just about over, though—I've only got the epilogue left. Thanks for reviewing!

charliebrown1234: Heh, I wrote this story, thus there have to be cuddles in it somewhere. I actually really enjoy writing these slower parts, mainly for the reasons you mentioned: it allows me to play with character traits and interactions.

MobiObi: It's one of my pet peeves when consequences are just ignored. However, I do think it's about time _something _went Obi-Wan's way.

Random: Hmm, interesting thought. I'm not sure I agree, though. My mind goes to situations such as ones concerning POWs: in cases like that, I have no problem taking out multiple members of the enemy in order to rescue a captured solider.

Corni378: Heh, blame the wait on finals. And, yes, Obi-Wan is stubborn, isn't he?

jmeec316: Surprisingly, it's nothing bad. He's actually going to deal with this responsibly.

imagination theater: Hehe, the bit with Satine was a favorite of mine. And, yes, the snuggles! Any story I write seems to have them! :)

Mirror and Image: Heh, yes, all of them cuddled up. Quite cute. About Padme: I think that she has the chance to be more objective, which is why she can see what Anakin doesn't. I so agree with you about wishing we could have seen more of this sort of thing with her in the movies, though. She was a character with so much potential, and I feel like in ROTS they kind of just made her a prop for Anakin. Wish they hadn't cut out that part about the Delegation of 2000.

Booknerd101: I'm sorry to make you sad, but I promise I've got other stuff in the works! I don't think I'll continue this, though. I've got way too many other plotlines swimming around in my head. I want to play with some of those for a while! :)

tejdog1: Aww, give the poor guys some credit: he's progressing. Some. But, yeah, I can see why you'd assume that. That's pretty much his _modus operandi_.

yellow 14: It feels very strange to have this winding down. But I'm glad you like how it's going: I am, for the most part, also pleased with how it's ending. And so true about the thing with the politicians. Not all, though. :P

pronker: Very true—they do only have regard for themselves. However, Dooku may just realize that it behooves him not to incriminate Obi-Wan. And Korkie—yes, I know! I'm just waiting for it to become canon. ;)

The Pearl Maiden: Thanks! I do enjoy her POV.

Kingsdaughter613: Hehe, I think they're very cute too.

* * *

And, behold, the last chapter! There will be an epilogue to follow.

* * *

The decent thing about opposing an organization that lives by a code of restrictive, hampering legislation is the fact that, when in their control, one can benefit from their excess of legal ethics and lack of efficiency. Had Dooku obtained the pleasure of playing host to the same scum that is currently detaining him, he certainly would not treat them to such adequate circumstances. His cell is not luxury by any stretch of the imagination, but the use of a bed, heat, and furnishings is far more than he would have given an average prisoner. Soft fools. Prisoners should not be treated as guests. Again, it is simply another example of how easily the light can be exploited.

Better yet, he gets the impression that he's about to further have an opportunity to do so.

Padme Amidala. Or is it Padme Skywalker? Since his capture, Dooku has been hearing the oddest gossip amongst the guards. Apparently, Skywalker has admitted to having married her years ago, before he even became a knight. Such a disregard for rules, even then. Given that they are the rules of the Jedi Order, Dooku would almost be impressed, had the action not been a far greater testament to Skywalker's sheer lack of discipline than it was to any sort of break with the Order. A worthy man would have disagreed openly, protesting the code; Skywalker simply ignored it, lied about it, and did what he wanted, to _get _what he wanted.

It's true that Amidala is a very attractive woman. Intelligent as well. He can logically see what Skywalker would have found fascinating, but he can muster no understanding for a boy who is ruled by his base impulses.

The sound of the door opening behind him filters into his ears, but it's nearly time for his mid-day meal—it will simply be droids.

"Awfully selfless, isn't he?"

Certainly not a droid. For all their icy metal, they are redeemed by the fact that they don't waste their potential—they don't have it to begin with, unlike Skywalker. Such a waste.

"Skywalker," he mutters by way of greeting as he half turns. Though, really, does the boy even deserve an acknowledgement?

Crossing his arms, Skywalker grips his own elbows lightly, one hand real flesh and the other machine. It's enough to make Dooku sneer. A gentleman would have learned to function with only one hand rather than accept something so… distasteful.

"You would have left him there to rot." No need to specify of whom he speaks. They both know.

"He was well cared for."

"You would have let him _die _there." For all of the expression in Skywalker's face, he might as well be discussing the weather. But his tone—it is frigid, and even the anger smoldering in his eyes can't melt that.

"All men die eventually, Skywalker."

He nods. "Personally, I hope your time comes soon."

It's strange how he says that. It's only a statement of a fact. Not a threat.

"I suspect that if you have your way, that could well be the case. There have been precious few death sentences handed out in the last century, but I don't doubt you'll push for one."

Once, Dooku might have feared death. Now… now it might almost be a relief. For a few brief moments, he ruled like he wanted, and it was satisfying. Those who say power is empty—they are wrong. Wrong and right. He had always wanted more no matter how much he got, it was true, but he had appreciated what he'd had.

Now, it is gone, and he is only a man in a cell, waiting for a trial. It's an inglorious end.

But Dooku is not an inglorious man, and he will not accept defeat so quietly.

"Or will you even have me tried?"

Now, finally, Skywalker stiffens, and his face tightens, pulling his skin tightly across his bones, making him look older. Harder. Still, he says nothing, and, for a moment, Dooku entertains the notion that he's choking, but when Skywalker draws a breath a moment later, he regrettably concedes that he had swallowed nothing but words.

"Is that what you're here about?" he asks casually, finally turning now to fully face Skywalker.

Still no answer.

"I present a great many problems for you, don't I, boy?"

"Don't implicate him."

A direct approach—it was not what Dooku expected, and he does not much appreciate the surprise. "And what reason do I have to keep my own council on the matter of Utapau?"

"Is spiting _me_ worth destroying _him_?"

It sounds so dreadfully petty when stated like that. This boy has no taste. None at all. He simply doesn't understand the matter—of refusing to allow oneself to lose entirely when there is still the prospect of some sort of victory.

"Chances are they won't even charge him anyway," Skywalker adds, face still drawn and tight. "Something he did under duress—it probably won't even go to trial."

Ah, yes, but the possibility is still real, and it's eating at Skywalker. "As they aren't trying you for your murder of the sand people? For your betrayal of Republic secrets?"

"Given the circumstances concerning the latter, I was acquitted. The former—" He pauses now, tipping his head back slightly and viewing Dooku seriously from under his fringe of bangs. "The courts credited me with time served. I suppose I should thank you for that."

By the Force, this child escapes _everything_ with nothing but a small slap on the hand. If Dooku had been this boy's master—if he'd been Kenobi—he would have insured that the boy knew his place. Made him understand that actions have consequences, and great talent does not annihilate any traces of wrongdoing. By the Force, Kenobi loved this boy far too much—let him get away with _too much_.

"Ah," he says, far more calmly than he feels, "they judged that a few months confined to your quarters was worth the lives of an entire village of sentient beings?"

He expects excuses. Perhaps anger. Skywalker can never accept his own mistakes, and he certainly won't appreciate being told he got off far too lightly. He likely doesn't think he deserved any punishment at all. After all, he got a stern reprimand from Kenobi, did he not? Is that not the usual consequence for any of his misdeeds?

Dooku is rather disappointed: Skywalker only levels an even stare. It's strange how calm he is. Dooku wouldn't have thought him capable. "Again, I suppose I have you to thank: they were somewhat hesitant to arrest the man who arrested _you._"

"The fear of public opinion then, yes?" he asks with a hint of humor.

Strangely enough, Skywalker returns with a small smile. "More or less. Funny how quickly opinion can turn, isn't it? A few months ago, you had convinced everyone that I was worse than you."

Too true… and Dooku isn't certain why that bothers him to the degree that it does. Perhaps because a temperamental youth got the better of him? "If that is so—and given how remarkably _stupid _the public is, I have no doubt that it _is_ true—you should have no worry for your master. He'll be cleared of any charges that arise from whatever implication I might make."

Another small nod, but certainly no satisfaction. "Yes," Skywalker agrees, lips pursing in displeasure. "More than likely, the charges will be transferred onto you since you were the one who forced him to kill."

"Again," Dooku replies, his own lips curling slightly in pleasure enough to match Skywalker's displeasure; he knows why the boy still persists, "you have nothing to worry about."

Now, finally, something in Skywalker shifts. At the point when he steps forward, there no hesitance, and though his movements are not yet quite indicative of violence, there's a promise of oncoming aggression. He moves slowly, but still with purpose, and Dooku cannot deny that it is not the manner of a spoilt, emotional child. This is a man with power, who is to be contended with.

Interesting. He has to admit, he did underestimate the boy in combat, but… he is not yet ready to believe he underestimated him personally as well. Still, this _man_ before him… this must have been the potential Qui-Gon saw. This must be the man Obi-Wan trusted as an equal. Still, a fluke. Skywalker cannot possibly maintain this air of maturity.

Inches from Dooku's face, he leans in, so close that Dooku can see the dark flecks of blue in his eyes. A handsome face, striking, with eyelashes that sweep down gently against his cheek. In this moment, however, that is the _only _thing gentle about him-the only characteristic that makes him seem at all innocent and childlike. With every other bit of his being, he's promising Dooku a fight—not necessarily a physical one, though the way he holds himself does hint at the possibility. A controlled possibility, but still an existing one. Sheer intimidation. And he's _good _at it.

"Obi-Wan is a good man."

Yes, a good man, and he will concede that, if only mentally: he still meets Skywalker's offensive with a firm stance and cool gaze. Neither gives; neither even touches the other, but, oddly, Dooku has seldom felt more challenged. "The public will forgive him."

"He can't forgive _himself_ yet."

Ah. So the real reason for Skywalker's visit immerges. This is not a fear of legal repercussions for his master—not entirely. This is simply Skywalker's not completely unfounded worry that Kenobi won't be able to properly handle seeing his sins spread for the entire world to see. It's not about being legally acquitted—it's about how Obi-Wan will handle the world knowing what he's done… about how that will exponentially increase his guilt.

Because Obi-Wan has never been able to forgive himself the way he forgives others.

And for that… Dooku feels a shade of regret. Obi-Wan—he wanted him on his side, but he has no side left now to want him for. What of that pity he felt at Obi-Wan's pain in the face of darkness? For whose sake should he push that on him now? Simply because he can? On principle alone? What principle? No love for Qui-Gon, certainly. No love for anyone. Just a simple desire for revenge, to make _Skywalker _suffer.

Startling, how he cares more for his pride than for the padawan of the boy he trained. For his own grandpadawan. For his own line.

And that is truth.

It is.

He can't _not _see that, not now, with it—with Skywalker—staring him in the face in a way he has not yet previously acknowledged. This man with whom he is contending—he isn't the uncontrolled child Dooku thought. Moody and spoilt, given to fits of temper, _yes_, but Dooku can no longer deny that he underestimated what lay within Skywalker. He only saw the flaws—the very _real _flaws—but he allowed them to cloud his perception of Skywalker's strengths. A fatal error.

Kenobi was right. All along, he was right… and Dooku would not see it.

Skywalker is something to contend with. He is _worth _contending with. It makes Dooku desire to destroy him that much more… but therein lies the conundrum. By destroying Kenobi—by destroying _Skywalker_—he is effectively crushing his own legacy.

He is destroying himself in an effort to save his pride.

He underestimated his opponent. He has lost… and he will destroy the only _real _chance of victory that he has left for the sure promise of a superficial victory that is no more than petty revenge. Skywalker earned what he won. To refuse to accept that—to strike when it can do no real good—is nothing but a childish desire to hurt with no purpose. Useless and foolish. And, yes, _petty_.

This is not the man he believes himself to be. What he plans to do—accusing Kenobi to maim Skywalker—is beneath him… and it does not benefit him.

He is not a foolish man. If the choice is to win at the cost of losing, he would far rather do the opposite: he will lose to ultimately win. He will take the only avenue left to him—the only way to make anything that is left of him actually _last_.

He will preserve his legacy.

To preserve, he has to concede.

There's something heavy in his step, in the way he moves back from Skywalker. There's finality to it, and a weight that is far more than a physical footfall.

Jedi that he is—though Dooku would not have believed it before now—Skywalker says nothing, but only holds his ground, letting Dooku move away. Not pursuing, and nothing in his expression would indicate this was ever a fight at all. Nothing about him gloats. He doesn't seem to like the price it took to get him to the point where he finally gained this.

"Kenobi loves you," Dooku says simply, nodding his head to Skywalker. It is not an explanation, but it is all he is prepared to give.

Whatever reaction that gains—it's not quantifiable. It's only a small flair in Skywalker's expression, a sort of easing at the corners of his lips. Whatever it is, it's barely discernable, but it's _pleased_. It's—it's… something Dooku doesn't understand.

And some part of him dearly wishes that he did.

"You tend to love what you give your life for," Skywalker replies after a moment. He pauses then, watching Dooku speculatively. "Do you love what _you _gave your life for? Do you love the chaos you've created?"

He quite nearly laughs, but, truthfully, that would be in bad taste. It would only be mildly satisfying—hardly a reason to indulge the impulse.

"You misunderstand the concept, as usual—you only love what you give your life for if you give without a selfish motive. Giving to help yourself is not giving at all. It is giving _for _yourself… and when that is true, you love nothing but yourself and your own desires."

"I think you love Obi-Wan. In your own way."

No. In that, at least, Skywalker is mistaken. Dooku is fond of Obi-Wan—_cares_ for him—and, more importantly, he feels a degree of attachment to him. It is not love, and of that Dooku is sure. Once, he might have been capable of such of thing, but what he has become—a man so imbued with the dark side—isn't capable of an emotion so purely of the light. Love must either drive out the dark, or the dark will extinguish pure love. There cannot be both. What he feels for Obi-Wan—it is the closest someone controlled by the dark side can get to love.

And what he feels—it is still selfish. It's tainted.

"Did you love Qui-Gon?"

A very good question, and were it any other topic, he would tell Skywalker to mind his tongue and his questions. But this—it catches at something in him, and he finds himself considering it, though thoughts of his old padawan are… never easy. It is not any master's wish to outlive a padawan.

"Once, perhaps."

Skywalker nods. "Not anymore?"

"Qui-Gon is dead, Skywalker, and I am not the same man that I was when I was his master."

"But when he _was _your padawan—"

Enough of this. It was folly to allow Skywalker his line of questioning to begin with. Some things had best remain unsaid. Remnants of the past—things like this—will do no good to anyone, so why speak them aloud? At any rate, the answer to the question Skywalker asks should be obvious in Dooku's decision to refrain from implicating Obi-Wan.

"You have what you came for," he says curtly, cutting Skywalker off. "I owe you no answers. I owe you _nothing_. Any courtesy I do you extends purely from an interest in the man who trained you."

Skywalker merely shrugs, seemingly unmoved. Dooku is hardly surprised—he suspects that Skywalker's feelings toward him are as hostile as his are toward Skywalker. "Whom you care for only because of the man who trained _him_?" Skywalker prompts.

Largely, yes, but the more he interacted with Kenobi, the more the man won his approval. There is still something about him that draws forth an odd sense of pride in Dooku. Kenobi is… entirely competent, and he can be traced back to _Dooku_.

"If that were true, Kenobi and I would have a commonality then, wouldn't we? Caring for another being because of misplaced affection for Qui-Gon Jinn…"

Yes, that gets beneath Skywalker's skin and chafes: his jaw clenches, though the motion is nearly lost in the way he raises his chin a few inches, defiant as always. This time defying an idea. He may have more control than Dooku first anticipated, but words can still cut at him.

When he does finally speak, his voice is low. "I almost feel sorry for you, you know."

"No, Skywalker," he replies distastefully, smoothing one hand-a mechanical one now, recently attached-over his beard, trying, though perhaps not very hard, to hide his obvious contempt at Skywalker's attempt at emotional maturity. "You despise me, as much as you'd like to say otherwise. There's little room for pity in that."

Skywalker doesn't deny it. "I see how alone you are."

"And you know you could have faced the same eventuality if Sidious' plans had come to fruition," he deduces, sneering. Even now, the boy is still so influenced by his fears.

Again, no denial, and that is confirmation enough. If it weren't, the way Skywalker's breath hitches, just barely, as he blinks rapidly for a moment—it would give him away. "What's your excuse for hating_ me_?" he asks after a moment, and Dooku is slightly impressed that there is hardly any waver to his voice. It's not as strong as it was moments before when he was defending Kenobi—Dooku _has _hit a sore spot—but it's passable.

"I hardly need one. Your personality is more than enough."

But that is a lie. Dooku knows that, just as Skywalker does, and while he will lie to Skywalker, he will not lie to himself, even if he's ignored the niggling truth that has always underscored every bit of vile he's felt toward Skywalker. With Skywalker, it's always been personal. Qui-Gon chose him—if he will accept Kenobi for the sole reason of having been Qui-Gon's padawan, he should accept Skywalker for having been nearly the same. But Kenobi—he shares many of Dooku's own strengths. In him, Dooku can see a pleasant reflection of bits of himself.

Skywalker shares his weaknesses.

And he is loved despite them.

Truly, that is the crux of it all, of the reason why he will never see Skywalker as anything more than an entitled brat: he has been given what Dooku was denied. Dooku is faulted for his pride, but Skywalker's hubris is tolerated; Dooku's inclination toward power and glory is reviled, Skywalker's managed; Dooku is condemned for his draw toward the dark side, and Skywalker is forgiven.

How can he be faulted for despising how Skywalker has received what he was denied? If things had gone only slightly differently, Dooku would be hailed as the hero, Skywalker as the villain. Once, Dooku truly had wanted to fight the corruption of the Republic. He kept battling it, pushing for a Separatist movement, pushing for a new way—he kept fighting corruption right up until he crossed a line and _became _it.

And Skywalker would have done the same if things had only been a little different.

It's pride and love, hate, a desire to change things, good intentions, and it's so unacceptable that, ultimately, everything came down to a set of circumstances. Dooku embraced the dark; Skywalker was spared from having the chance.

Dooku cannot forgive him for that. He detests the boy for showing him his own faults and proving that they _can _be overcome.

Skywalker forces him to admit that he wasn't fated to fail.

He chose this path.

And he chose wrongly.

"You have your answer," he says finally, just as harshly as he intends. "I will not implicate Obi-Wan in any wrongdoing."

And Skywalker, with a perception that Dooku was inclined to think he didn't possess, simply nods and lets his question go. He won't get an answer, and he knows it. There was never any reason for engaging in arguments with Skywalker at all. He was foolish to have ever done it, but how can he be faulted for being provoked?

The door closing is his answer. It's not like Skywalker to simply let the conversation go, though it _is_ prudent—Dooku will give him no more answers. There is nothing left to be gained. A cessation of any further inquiry is logical, and, given the situation, it is the best thanks Skywalker could give him.

But, still, it _is _the end.

Dooku's end, in ways he could never explain, not even to himself.

* * *

"I think he really does love you, you know. As much as he can."

Obi-Wan looks small on the couch of Padme's apartment. Out of place, the more Anakin thinks about it. Her apartment isn't simple enough for him, not in the way the Temple is, and he looks strange here, surrounded by all the colors and fine fabrics.

Obi-Wan, for his part, hardly acknowledges Anakin, other than to give him a quick glance out of the corner of his eye before turning back to whatever he's reading on the new holopad Anakin bought for him after they'd been back on Coruscant for a few days. "I'd rather not talk about this, Anakin."

"I know. Or think about it. Or address it." He pauses, moving a little closer. This conversation… won't be simple. "You're hiding."

Obi-Wan still doesn't look away, though his eyes have stopped moving back and forth over the lines of words: he's not reading, but merely refusing to look at Anakin.

"If it were up to you, you'd never hear about it again—except it's not up to you, and all this is going to do is ensure that you'll get hit over the head with it when it goes to trial. You want to consider it for the first time when Dooku presents it in front of the entire galaxy?"

It's a small victory that he at last drops the datapad down next to him on the couch, finally turning his attention fully to Anakin. "You expected the matter of Dooku's affection toward me to go to trail?" he asks, rolling over and sitting up.

It's a good try—but this is what Padme was talking about. Obi-Wan is _very _good at misdirection.

"He's allowed to have misguided feelings toward me if he wishes, Anakin—that isn't a crime," Obi-Wan points out a little too seriously to actually convince Anakin he believes that is what this conversation is really about.

Right. Well, Padme told him that when Obi-Wan is like this, it's best to just smack him with reality. She might have been nicer about it—said something along the lines of "don't let him change the subject, Anakin," but it really amounts to just blatantly stating his point so baldly that Obi-Wan can't pretend to misunderstand or miss it.

"Dooku agreed not to implicate you for what happened on Utapau."

There is a small flinch—just a too quick blink, really—to indicate Obi-Wan's feelings, but, beyond that, he manages to stay admirably neutral, at least on the outside. Inside, Anakin would be willing to bet that he's twisting up into a very complicated knot.

"You talked to him."

Anakin nods. "And he agreed not to implicate you. And I think he did that because he cares for you in his own way."

Obi-Wan's hand slips down to his knees, gripping tightly. Anakin just pretends he doesn't see how white his knuckles turn or the way Obi-Wan's shoulders have tightened. If this keeps up, Obi-Wan is going to need physically therapy just from the physical manifestations of his stress, let alone all the other injuries he's obtained in active combat.

"Anakin, whatever Dooku feels, it's not caring."

"Or you don't want it to be?"

"Don't push me, Anakin."

Once, he might have been hurt by the way Obi-Wan so frequently snaps now. He certainly wouldn't appreciate the less-than-friendly look on his face, or the way his eyebrows are trying to crawl up into his hairline in a clear challenge. Some days, he gets the feeling that Obi-Wan _wants _a fight. Today, apparently, is one of those days, or moments, or whatever.

Obi-Wan is _cranky_.

Rather than saying any of that—because it would only lead to the aforementioned fight, and Anakin doesn't really relish the idea of that—he simply sinks down on the couch next to Obi-Wan, lightly bumping their shoulders together. Obi-Wan lets him. It's a good sign, and maybe even a little bit of an apology for the way he snapped.

"Can we at least agree that it's a good thing you won't be called to testify?"

"I'll admit that I wasn't eagerly anticipating the idea of allowing the galaxy to examine my indiscretions."

Anakin bumps his shoulder again. "A simple 'yes' would have worked." But, no, Obi-Wan likes to be complicated—it's his way of agreeing without actually adopting the other person's statement. But that's fine. At this point, Anakin will give that to him. "Dooku will probably get a death sentence, you know. He's too dangerous to even allow the possibility of escape."

"He'll deserve it."

"So you're fine with that?"

"It's not for me to decide."

"I'm not asking you to decide—I'm asking for your opinion."

"If that is your way of asking if I feel any sort of residual affection for _him_, courtesy of my affection for Qui-Gon, my answer is a definitive _no_."

That wasn't what Anakin was asking, but in this case, Obi-Wan's answer might not have been an attempt to circumvent the real question: Anakin is willing to concede that, in this situation, he may not actually have known what was being asked. And, so, he will explain, and this time, he'll make sure Obi-Wan _can't _misunderstand.

"That wasn't what I meant," he says, not unkindly, reaching out and tugging, just a little, at Obi-Wan's sleeve. He did that sometimes when he was younger and wanted Obi-Wan's attention.

Clearly, his former master recognizes the gesture: he gives a small smile and glances down at his sleeve, gently pulling it back away from Anakin. There's no rejection in the gesture, though—on the contrary, it's an acknowledgement.

"What I _meant_," he says once Obi-Wan meets his eyes, "is that I want to know whether or not you are satisfied that this is justice."

Not revenge. Not something else. And Obi-Wan just nods. "If it goes through the courts, I'm satisfied."

In other words, so long as it's not something Anakin or some other individual administers on his own. So long as it's not something like Utapau. And, really, _that _was what Anakin was asking about.

"All right," he says then, snaking his fingers back up to Obi-Wan's sleeve and tugging a little more. A childish gesture? Maybe, but with Obi-Wan, he will always, in some sense, be the one being taught—the learner. A little bit the son bothering his father with something as simple as a tug on the sleeve. "If you're sure."

"And if I wasn't?" Obi-Wan asks, quirking an eyebrow.

"Then I'd pitch a very loud fit. And the galaxy would notice. I'd make sure they did."

That draws a bit of a smirk and a shake of Obi-Wan's head. His hair falls into his eyes, but he just keeps up the motion, only pushing the locks away once he stops a few seconds later. "You never really grow up, do you?"

Anakin chuckles. "In some ways, no."

"Obviously."

"Okay."

"That's it?"

"Do you want something else?"

Obi-Wan laughs. "Occasional well-coordinated and well-though-out plans would be nice. I do get tired of your improvisation."

"Funny."

"I am."

"You _are_."

They stop at that point, laughing a little with each other, enough like things were before all this happened that Anakin feels something inside of him ease up, just a bit. Things aren't perfect. There's a lot wrong. But Obi-Wan is smiling. He's here. They're all here.

And he can't shake the sense that, somehow, everything _is_ going to be okay.

**End**


	43. Epilogue

**Disclaimer: **I own nothing.

**Feedback**: If you'd be so kind as to leave some, I'll do my best to reply.

**Notes:** ROTS AU.

Long Live Nelly: Excellent timing! Coming in just as it's wrapping up! This way you don't have to wait for updates—I know I wish I done things that way on a lot of stories I've followed. I'm glad this could get you interested in Star Wars fandom again—I'm really very fond of this fandom. :)

AndrossKenobi: I always really felt like there had to be some underlying reason behind why Dooku hated Anakin so much. I mean, there are a lot of powerful Jedi, but for some reason, Anakin was especially loathsome to him. I always wanted to explore that further, and I'm glad to have had the chance. I have to admit, though, I never really took Dark Rendezvous into account, as I haven't read it.

Raeigh: I agree—I get frustrated when he's given an easy out. Yes, the rules may, in some cases, have been a bit extreme, but, you know, he still committed genocide. Don't think you can really blame that entirely on the strictness of an Order. And thank you for this review—I think you really touched on what ruins a lot of potentially great stories (not that I'm saying I succeeded at avoiding all those pitfalls), and I genuinely appreciate reading about that insight.

Asdfjkl: Thank you! I really wanted to make sure to give a solid reason for Dooku's animosity toward Anakin. Happy reading!

FireShifter: Yes, it probably seems incomplete because it is. :) As evidenced by this post, there's an epilogue.

Rohan: He's really kind of pathetic enough that you feel sorry for him, isn't he?

Dawn of Time: Aww, thanks! And, yes. Heh, I had another section that mentioned him getting prosthetics, but I found that I didn't feel that section added to the story (with the exception of explaining how he had hands again) and removed it. Unfortunately, I neglected to mention elsewhere that he'd gotten false limbs. Sorry about that—I'll get it fixed soon.

Booknerd101: Oooh, Inception! Highly approve! Thank you so much for following my story!

Random: Character development is really pretty much the reason why I write fanfiction—I find it so much fun. I enjoyed writing Dooku as well—I feel that he's very overlooked in fanfiction. As promised, though, he doesn't die in this story. And the epilogue—well, guilty as charged. I'm a sucker for family scenes.

yellow 14: I think, with Dooku, for the most part, he's not cowardly—he'll face his shortcomings once he realizes them. And, yes, Obi-Wan hasn't had a very nice time, but things are looking up for him. Promise. Thanks for following this!

Corni378: Sorry to end the weekly updates! :( With any luck I'll have a new story to post soon. I'll even see what I can do about one with Ventress. And thank you so much for the kind words! I'm very flattered and quite appreciative.

charliebrown1234: Yay, theme song! And, yes, I have about four stories that are over eighty pages at this point. It's just a matter of figuring out which to work on and then getting them done.

The Pearl Maiden: Thank you!

Darth KenObi-Wan: No, it doesn't sound stupid at all. I actually had another section that mentioned him getting prosthetics, but I didn't feel that section added to the story (with the exception of explaining how he had hands again) and removed it. I forgot to add that little detail somewhere else. I intend to fix that in the next few days.

jmeec316: Oh, thank you! I do really love Anakin's character—there's so much room for growth and development. Still, though, I have to admit that Obi-Wan is my favorite, and so I'm very glad you enjoy my take on his character. Thanks for taking note of Dooku too: I've very much enjoyed exploring his character.

Random Under the Sun: Haha, yes, the next chapter has twins. Thanks for sticking with this story! :)

pronker: I have to admit, I almost felt proud of Anakin here. He's learned so much. *sniffle* I'm so proud. I'm also glad that I sufficiently conveyed that there's still a lot of worked to be done: I didn't want to wrap things up too easily and just give the sense that everything was going to be perfect again, because obviously there are still a lot of problems—only, now, there's hope. Thank you so much for reading and always commenting! You have no idea how much I appreciate the fact that you always take the time to do that.

Kingsdaughter613: Bonding is always fun to write! :)

* * *

Thank you so much to everyone who has followed this. I can't adequately express how much I appreciate the feedback!

* * *

[Epilogue]

It's amazing how quickly people will join forces with the victor, forgetting that only days before, they'd joined the opposition. Given the number of systems returning to the Republic, Obi-Wan has lost count of the planets claiming that they were "forced" to join the Separatists and Dooku. He's less sympathetic than he might have been before Order 66. Now, their use of the word irks him: they haven't the faintest clue what it really means to be "forced".

It's true that some of the claims are legitimate. He can understand swearing fealty when there's an army on the horizon and the promise of death attached to a negative answer. What he cannot condone, however, are the planets that conceded to Dooku's commands because it was, at the time, a seemingly better political opportunity. That is not extortion. That is a business decision, and to hear the governments of those planets claim that Dooku forced their loyalty because he offered them what appeared to be a way to further their economy or position of power—he can hardly stomach that.

They have no concept of what they claim. To them, having their hand forced means Dooku made other options less attractive on a financial or political scale. It is not a lightsaber to the throat of someone they love.

Call him petty—and undoubtedly, some will, because politicians get _nasty_ when they aren't given what they ask for—but Obi-Wan cannot take their claims seriously. Not when he remembers what he's seen.

Some days, he likes to think he's simply not allowing emotions to play a part in his decision-making; other days, he feels cold. He's lost something. No matter what Padme and Anakin try to tell him, he's not the same man he was. He's harder—less sympathetic and understanding. He was always logical, always practical, but this goes beyond that. What he was before—he felt empathy while still choosing to do the practical thing. Now it's just harder to feel at all.

He's not on the verge of the dark side. He feels himself solidly rooted in the light… but the light doesn't automatically make someone warm and understanding. Truthfully, he wasn't really _warm_, per say, to begin with, and what's happened—it hasn't helped. He's just harder now. Colder.

"Stop it. I can hear you worrying from here."

But not colder to everyone.

And some days warmer than others.

The voice startles Obi-Wan out of his revere of irritation; he lowers his datapad and turns away from the window that he was standing in front of as he read. Immediately, all ill will is gone. Anakin shouldn't be here this soon. Surely, it should take longer than this? Shouldn't it? What if something went wrong? "Ana—"

Anakin grins and reaches out to grab his arm. His fingers flex as he pulls insistently, and his enthusiasm really is catching: Obi-Wan quickly falls into step behind him, already spouting questions. "Is she all right? Is the baby—?"

Anakin laughs and stops walking, spinning around and pushing against Obi-Wan's shoulder with his hand, forcing Obi-Wan to pull up short. "Bab_ies_."

"Yes, Anakin, I'm talking about _babies_. I want to know about _your_ baby."

"No, Master, _babies_. Twins."

_What?_

Oh good Force. Twins? How was _that _missed? Padme might not have had pre-natal check-ups for the first five months or so of her pregnancy given that she hardly had a moment's rest while she ran the rebellion, but he _knows _she saw a doctor after that. That—that just doesn't get overlooked. It can't possibly have been.

"Padme didn't want to know anything other than whether the baby was healthy," Anakin says by way of explanation. "The medical droids apparently took that to mean she didn't want to know she was having twins."

"You have… more than one."

Anakin keeps on grinning, the expression splitting his face in a way Obi-Wan hasn't seen for a very long time. It's comforting to see that. So good, and the legal claims for reapplication to the Republic, Dooku's upcoming sentencing—really, Obi-Wan isn't sure why the trial took this long, given there was never a question of his guilt—all the worries he's constantly dealing with—they seem to minimize in the face of that smile. "Yeah, Master, that's what _twins _means."

He's too shocked to bother with a retort. Anakin seems to take heart in that—he grabs Obi-Wan's elbow and yanks him forward again, heading toward the room where Padme was settled hours ago. Obi-Wan would know. He's been waiting outside since then, reading court briefings—why, oh, _why_ did he agree to use his venerable skills in negotiation to help determine how the re-admittance process to the Republic should go?—and, really, that does explain his previously sour mood. Hours of court briefings will do that.

But not now.

Now, that mood has lightened considerably, because how could it possibly not when there are two new little lives in the world? Two little lives that almost didn't get to have a father. And that _has _to be worth everything he's experienced. Because there _are _days where he can't stop seeing Utapau and what he did, and he has to know that it wasn't useless-that his actions preserved something good. These babies have a father because of what he did. It doesn't make his actions right or moral, but it _does _mean something good came of a painful disaster. And he has to know that.

This—it _is _good.

The babies are beautiful. Not in a physical sense—newborns are, in his opinion, actually rather homely, all red and wrinkled. But this is _new_ _life_, and that can never fail to be beautiful.

"So," Anakin says, leaning over Padme's bed and brushing his lips against her forehead, "I'm thinking that you'll train one, and I'll train the other—"

Padme, though her hair is still damp with sweat, and her eyes are half-lidded, belaying a deep exhaustion, looks very much like she's trying not to laugh. Force, this woman just endured childbirth, and she has the energy to laugh at him. Incredible. Her strength of will could put Jedi to shame.

"Anakin, I don't think—"

"Oh, _I_ do! Here, just look," he continues, reaching down to take one of the babies from Padme. Before Obi-Wan can really complain—and Anakin probably planned that—he has an armful of baby.

Oh. Oh my. He… has never had much experience with babies, but there's something so perfect about the little weight in his arms. He knows he's holding the child a bit stiffly, but in all reality, he doesn't really want to let it go, uncomfortable feelings aside. "He—she—?"

Anakin grins, and even Padme laughs a little. Both the babies are dressed in white—how is he to know which is which?

"You've got Luke."

Luke. "You… named him Luke?"

Padme had to have known he didn't think they really would. On the ship—he and Padme, they'd just been talking, and her question about names—it was only a distraction. Except, apparently, it wasn't. They named the baby Luke.

Padme knows what he's thinking. She's not even making an effort to hide it: she just smiles, wide and open, leaning into Anakin's shoulder when he settles on the bed next to her, apparently getting himself a better vantage point from which to watch his former master handle an infant. _Anakin's _infant.

Obi-Wan glances down at the other baby in Padme's arms. "That's Leia," Padme says by way of explanation, tipping the baby up a little to let Obi-Wan see.

She looks fairly similar to Luke as far as he can tell. A bit more hair, maybe, and it's of a darker shade. But still little and red and wrinkly… and perfect. "I named her," Anakin explains, grinning proudly as he draws a finger down his daughter's cheek. She wiggles a little when he does that, making some sort of noise that isn't quite a complaint but more of an… acknowledgement. The little gloves over her hands are probably necessary too, given the way she waves her fists in a mass of uncoordinated expression, sometimes bumping herself in the face.

"You could have named your son too," Obi-Wan tells him quietly. In his arms, Luke shifts, giving a tiny cry in response to his sister. "You—" He stops then, distracted by… not quite something, but not nothing either. Just undefined. Whatever it is, it pokes clumsily at the shields of his mind. Normally, that would be threatening, but this presence—it's the furthest thing from that. This thing, whatever it is, arouses his curiosity with the way it is so _entirely _non-threatening, and he lowers his shields, letting the presence slip in and snuggle up against his mind.

Despite himself, he gives a small hum of surprise, wrinkling his brow. And Anakin—he is looking far too smug for his own good. "Understand yet?"

No, he doesn't. Not at all. All he understands right now is that whatever has crawled up into his mind is very light, more pure than he's felt since before Utapau. And, Force, it feels _good_. Clean. Like something he hadn't thought himself capable of harboring anymore.

"All right. Let me give you a hint."

The training bond that he and Anakin share flares in Obi-Wan's mind. Obi-Wan is used to that, though—Anakin has been in his head for many years. It's strange, though, how Anakin's presence feels rather like whatever else is in his mind, although the new thing—it's purer. But, still, very like a bond—

Oh. _Oh_.

"You knew," he says blankly, staring down at the baby in his arms. "I—how did you do it?"

"Me?" Anakin asks. His wide-eyed attempt at innocence is somewhat pointless—he's never been much good at giving the impression that he'd never do whatever he's trying to deny doing at any given moment. He's done too much to pull a scene like that. In fact, he's the first one everyone looks at. Innocence is not his forte. But this time, there seems to be something more than a feigned lack of guilt. Under his amusement, he's _serious_. "I didn't do anything, Master. Luke wanted _you_. When you sensed him back when we were first leaving Utapau, he learned your presence. And I could feel him reaching out for it once he was born."

"I—that's why you were so sure I'd train him, why you handed him to me—I—he just—Luke just—" This baby just, for lack of a more eloquent description, burrowed into his mind and initiated a bond. Or, rather, poked at his shields until Obi-Wan let him in and _allowed _him to initiate a bond.

"Oh, yes," Anakin agrees, laughing, "he did. He's in my head to. Feels kind of nice, doesn't it?"

"I—" He's not usually this lost for words. But, Force, this baby just—

Padme grins and moves Leia a little more into her shoulder. "It looks like the light wants you, Obi-Wan," she says, watching him with warm eyes. "Quite literally."

Luke. Light. "But he's _yours__—"_

Padme nods, and Anakin follows suit. "Of course," she agrees. "But you're family."

"You know, Master, give it awhile—Leia will probably do the same thing. Not as deep as Luke, I don't think, but I bet she'll make a bond."

"Anakin," he tries to protest, somewhat off-balance. This is… quite unexpected. "You can't just let your children go around poking at people's minds!"

The corners of Anakin's mouth tighten, suppressing a smile by sheer effort. "They don't. Do you know how many doctors and nurses have been in and out of here?"

Padme rolls her eyes, leaning back a little roughly against Anakin. Leia gives a loud squall in protest, immediately prompting her mother to go about soothing her with light touches and rocking. Though, Padme still glances up at Obi-Wan and rolls her eyes again just for good measure. "There were a lot of them. Anakin panicked. A war, dozens of rescue missions, and the defeat of a Sith Lord, but he can't handle childbirth."

Anakin tips his chin back definitely. "It looked like it _hurt_—"

Padme nods definitively. "Oh, it _did—_"

"And I wanted to fix that—"

"It's _childbirth_, Anakin," Obi-Wan tries to point out.

"And the doctors and nurses are getting paid, aren't they? They might as well _do _something!" He stops then, shaking his head and slowly pulling himself away from the bed, slipping up a little closer to Obi-Wan until he can run a finger lightly over his son's forehead. "But my point is, Luke didn't try to invade any of those minds, Obi-Wan—he tried to invade _yours_. That's more than wanting to know someone—it's not just curiosity. It's an understanding that there's something there in the Force. The Force wants this, and my son knows it."

"I'm flattered," Obi-Wan counters dryly. Assaulting his mind seems to be a common hobby of a good portion of the galaxy. Though, in this case, he finds that he doesn't mind it so terribly much.

Not at all, actually.

And Anakin understands—he just smiles. "I know."

"Yes, but, Anakin…" He has to say this. It… hurts to, but it _does _need to be said, and best not to delay, as Luke seems to be slightly unsettled by the shift in his mind, to the point where he's beginning to fuss. "Anakin, are you sure you want me to train your son?"

"Well, I don't know, Obi-Wan, are you sure you want _me_ to train my daughter? After… everything?"

He feels himself blink. Anakin doesn't usually take him off guard, but that is… unexpected. "I don't follow your meaning."

Padme answers for him, reaching up and moving Leia toward Anakin, who goes to her side and takes his daughter as Padme sits up a little straighter. The strain of childbirth has obviously exhausted her, but the determination in the way she's holding her small frame upright so straightly makes it clear that this is important. She will not tolerate being ignored, nor told not to strain herself—neither Obi-Wan or Anakin even make the attempt. "What he means is, he has touched the dark side just as much as you. If you can't be trusted with Luke, can he be trusted with Leia?"

"Padme, it's not the same thing-"

"Oh?" She arches her eyebrow, challenging him, and so what if she has not only just given birth, but is also much smaller than him? The look on her face—well, he can face Sith Lords and war, but he'd rather not take her on. "Does the dark side have regard for family?"

"I… suppose not."

"You suppose?" she prompts sternly.

This is absurd. He is not a youngling. "Padme, you needn't lecture me."

"Oh, I think she should," Anakin interjects, laughing pleasantly. Yes, and he looks _far _too pleased at the verbal cowing Obi-Wan is currently enduring. "She's the only one I've ever seen actually _do _it!"

Maybe he's right. Maybe Padme _can _do that to him. But Anakin—he _can't_. "Anakin?"

His smile fades. It should. He ought to recognize this look of Obi-Wan's by now. "Yeah?" he asks a little hesitantly.

"Do you remember that lecture you got from Mace Windu when he found out _you _were the one who told that group of younglings he had a purple lightsaber because he was secretly a woman?"

Anakin's brows wrinkle, and his tongue darts out to wet his lips a little nervously. He even holds Leia a little closer to him, like he thinks he can ward off whatever Obi-Wan is about to say by blocking it with a baby. "I never got a lecture, Master—he didn't find out."

"Oh, yes." His tone is a very successful attempt at mock surprise. "Then just _imagine _the lecture in store if I were to mistakenly let that small detail slip."

There is little that is more perfect that seeing Anakin's jaw drop like that. Even Padme sniggers, though Anakin is supporting her cause. "You wouldn't—"

"Probably not, assuming you remember your place, my former padawan, and do not deign it _your _responsibility to lecture me."

That does have the effect of making Anakin look suitably contrite. Suitably meaning he's abandoned this endeavor for the time being—tomorrow, he may regain that self-assured confidence that's still lurking in his gaze when he tosses Obi-Wan a too-charming smile. "Sure, Obi-Wan."

He can hardly contain a roll of his eyes. "Hmm, yes."

Regrettably, however, Padme is still regarding him with far too much scrutiny for this conversation to have ended. "You _are_, as I might have mentioned previously, awfully good at directing the conversation away from where you don't want it to go, aren't you, Master Kenobi?"

It would be impossible to take that as anything other than the reprimand that it is. "I have been told that I am, My Lady." A quick nod of his head should sufficiently make his point.

Perhaps it does, though if that is the case, she simply counters with a raised eyebrow. "You're going to train my son?" Not a question, really—more of an order disguised as one.

It is true that he could refuse. He has the right. No one can force him to train the boy in his arms—not even that boy himself, who has latched onto his mind. And, Force, he _has._ Obi-Wan can feel him in his mind, even now, clumsily searching out the new territory, just as Anakin did when he was first apprenticed. When Anakin did this, Obi-Wan let him look… and he lets Luke look now.

And that is really his answer, isn't it? If he intended to refuse, he would rebuff Luke completely. He would not be treating Luke like he treated Anakin—he would not be treating him like he has the right to be in his mind, the right that training would give him.

The right that being _family _gives him.

No, there is no choice at all.

Given how often his choice has been stripped of him as of late, that should bother him… but this—it's not the same. There is no choice at all because _he _has already chosen. He chose too far back to change now, back when he accepted another little boy, back when that little boy became more important than just an apprentice. Back when that little boy became his family.

It was _his_ choice, but he made it far before now—it is no longer a matter of choosing, but only of living with what he chose.

This was the kind of thing that endured, even through the dark. Utapau happened, but this decision still held strong… and somehow there is a freedom in not being able to change it now, because it shows—makes absolutely certain—that the dark side didn't nullify what he decided years ago. He chose something of the light, and he's feeling those consequences now—the consequences are still _there_ to be felt. The light is still here.

"Yes," he answers, eyes flicking down to the little life in his arms. Perfect. More perfect than anything he has ever broken. Utapau fades in the light of the child he's holding. Everything just… seems bright.

"Yes," he says again, exhaling slowly, the ever-present tightness in his chest finally easing. "I'll train your son."


End file.
